Risking It All
by Liv Wilder
Summary: Castle steals a police horse. The arresting officer is none other than Kate Beckett. "You got yourself up there and now you're going to get back down. I want you to concentrate. Carefully lift your leg over its flank, then slide to the ground. Preferably without breaking anything. Or losing that blanket. No one wants to see your bare ass swaying in the moonlight. Least of all me."
1. Chapter 1 - The Dismount

_A/N: This story is purely about fun. The prompt I gave myself basically ran like this: Castle is arrested for riding a police horse naked through Central Park and the rookie cop who shows up to book him is none other than Officer Kate Beckett._

_The action is set early-2003, when Kate Beckett is around 23 years old._

_Hope you enjoy. Chapter 2 is mostly written, so update shouldn't take long. Hope everyone is having a good weekend. Happy Super Bowl Sunday!_

* * *

"_You were a risk, a mystery, and the most certain thing I'd ever known." _

_\- Beau Taplin_

* * *

**_Chapter 1: The Dismount_**

"So, what'll it be? Pierogi or a slice?" asks Officer Jan Jurkowski, badgering his partner about food for the third time in the last half hour.

"We had pizza our last two tours. How about sushi for a change?" suggests Officer Kate Beckett.

Jurkowski turns to stare a Kate. "You want me to eat raw fish? In the middle of a shift?"

"Raw fish is a problem for you? But you're more than happy to eat steamed _beef tongue_?"

"At least it's cooked."

"Cooking ozór wołowy doesn't magically transform it into something else, you know. It's still a big, fat, hairy cow's tongue."

"Sushi's for sissies anyhow," he grumbles.

"Yeah, well, this sissy drank you under the table the other night, and she wants sushi. You owe me, Jan."

The radio crackles and the dispatcher breaks in, interrupting the cops' pointless argument.

"Units in the vicinity of 5th and East 72th Street. We have reports of a…of a…10-20 in progress. Several civilians describe seeing a naked man riding a horse close to the 72nd Street entrance to Central Park." Even the dispatcher sounds incredulous.

Kate's eyes widen and her partner snatches for the car radio.

"We are _so_ taking this one," he declares, thoughts of dinner suddenly put on hold.

Before he can respond, the dispatcher cuts back in. "Make that a naked guy on a _police_ horse. 10-13: officer assistance required. All patrol cars in the vicinity of Terrace Avenue, please respond."

"Dispatch, this is 12-Charlie responding. On our way."

"What'd you think? Light her up?" asks Jurkowski, his fat finger hovered over the bank of siren buttons.

"Be my guest," nods Kate, flicking on her turn signal before pulling out into traffic.

* * *

They speed up Madison Avenue from East 66th Street, only six or so blocks for their target address. The siren cycles through it's various sound effects as they go - the wail, the yelp, the hi-lo, and a fast stutter that always grates on Kate's last nerve. But the flashing cherry bar and wall of sound parts the slow-moving traffic up ahead like the Red Sea. Finally, she signals left and they turn onto East 72nd Street, bouncing straight over the rising swell of 5th Avenue on a green signal to reach the entrance to the Park in less than four minutes.

Kate's a little way along Terrace Avenue, Central Park extending left and right of them into the darkness of night-swaddled foliage, when she spies a number of people gathered up ahead in a scattered, but growing group.

"Looks like our exhibitionist drew quite a crowd," comments Jurkowski, as he reaches for the radio. "Dispatch, 10-84: 12-Charlie arriving on scene."

Kate unbuckles her seatbelt, assessing the incident and the conditions they're set to encounter through the windshield as she does so. "You wrangle the crowd, okay? I'll call dispatch for an ETA on mounted. We'll need someone to take control of the horse once we get this idiot down from there. God knows where its rider's gone. Also, can you check if we still have that old blanket in the trunk."

"Why me?"

"What?"

"Why do I have to cover the naked guy?"

"Eh…because he's naked? And you're a guy."

"Kinda sexist, don't you think?"

"You have much experience with horses, Jan? Be my guest. But that 1800lbs of muscle and sinew over there looks about ready to bolt. So—" She shrugs, crossing her arms and arching one eyebrow.

"You ride?"

Kate nods.

"I'll get the blanket," says Jurkowski, at the exact same moment Kate says, "Just get the blanket and cover him up."

She points in the direction of the tall-looking naked guy. How she knows that he is tall she has no idea, because he's still sitting on the back of the horse…facing the wrong way. But somehow she just does.

His skin looks smooth as silk, pale and blemish-free even beneath the jaundiced street lighting at the edge of the park, his back broad and muscled. She shakes her head to physically dispel the errant thoughts that are threatening to distract her the longer she regards this fine-looking, naked torso.

"Look, just cover him up for me and I'll let you have first pick of food for a week," she throws over her shoulder at her sidekick.

* * *

She approaches the crowd quietly at first, assessing the situation: looking for any problems or potential threats. The man doesn't appear overtly drunk or high at first sight. In fact, he looks as if he's quite enjoying himself, soaking up the attention of the gathering crowd, maybe even playing up to it.

"Sir," she says loudly and clearly enough for him to hear without spooking the horse. "I'm with the NYPD. Please stay right where you are. Keep your hands where I can see them. And don't move until I tell you to."

The crowd begins to press closer, excited by the arrival of cops on scene, anticipating the theater of a good drama to come. A couple of people start filming on video cameras, while others take still photographs from their ringside seats. As interest in the action she's about to take grows, Kate realizes that she might have to go about this a different way.

"Jurkowski, hand me the blanket," she says, reaching back for the grey wool rug her colleague has just fished out of the trunk.

"I thought you wanted me to—"

"Change of plan. Need you to take charge of crowd control. Get them to move further back in case the horse decides to take off."

"But I still get to choose lunch, right?"

Kate sighs. "Sure. Whatever. Just pass me the blanket and start moving people away…slowly, quietly, over towards the sidewalk."

While Officer Jurkowski wrangles the public, Kate takes steady steps towards the horse, maintaining a discreet distance. Once she's alongside, having kept a good ten or fifteen feet between herself and the fidgeting animal, she stops, pausing quietly, her gaze leveled straight ahead. She stands still for several long seconds, ignoring the horse entirely.

The signs of agitation the police horse is exhibiting – stamping feet, occasionally pawing the ground, nodding and tossing its head, the flattened ears and flared nostrils, snorting now and again with an impatience that indicates he's probably eager to get moving again – are all indications that she needs to proceed with caution. Kate has to get the naked civilian safely off the horse's back, before he decides to take off across the park into the dark of night with this naked stranger hanging on for dear life.

Kate knows that police horses are trained to be around crowds, to operate in a focused, controlled manner in the midst of baying mobs where anything can happen – fireworks, brass bands, civilians running here and there all around them, yelling, carrying banners and placards, flashes of light, sirens, speeding vehicles – these horses are trained to be bomb proof where their riders' safety is concerned. But the circumstances surrounding tonight's events are unknown to Kate, as is this animal. The horse could be injured, traumatized, unwell, and so there's a chance it could suddenly regress to type: looking for predators in every unfamiliar sight or sound, expecting lions to leap out from behind every tree. She needs to take this carefully for the sake of the naked idiot on its back, as much as for her own personal safety and that of the crowd.

After pausing to let the horse get used to her presence and understand that she doesn't represent any threat, she begins to move closer, her body still turned half away from the horse. She stops moving once more when the horse gradually turns its head in her direction, exhibiting some general curiosity, and then slowly the great beast begins walking towards her, his head lowered.

Kate begins to hum, maintaining the soothing sound as she waits for the horse to reach her. Once alongside, she starts talking quietly to the horse in a calming tone of voice, and as soon as she's fairly certain that the animal seems comfortable with her, she carefully lifts her hand, allowing the horse to sniff her open palm.

* * *

"Cover yourself up, please," she instructs the now silent, totally captivated, yet no less naked man still sitting astride the police horse, looking down at her.

She carefully hands him the folded blanket from the trunk of her patrol car so as not to alarm the animal. She manages this without ever looking at him directly, completely ignoring his nude state, lest his exhibitionist predilections are stoked by her presence. Perish the thought.

"Slow movements, please. Don't fling the blanket around."

Kate makes long, smooth, strokes on the horses neck with the flat of her hand, and then she moves on to caress the horse's muzzle, resuming her earlier quiet murmurings while she watches the naked civilian wrap himself in the rough, grey wool rug from beneath her lowered lashes.

Once the man is covered, she slips the fingers of her right hand around the cheek piece of the bridle, holding the horse's head steady while she reaches down for the reins, which are trailing low in front of the horse. Once she has the reins secured in her right hand, she turns to address the stranger up on the horse, his back turned to her since he's still facing the animal's rear.

"Sir? Sir, can you hear me?" she asks, only vaguely aware of the curious crowd, which her colleague has thankfully managed to remove to a safe distance with the help of two cops from the second patrol unit to arrive on scene.

"Loud and clear."

"Do you think you can get down off the horse for me if I hold him steady?"

"I'll give it a good try."

"No. No, don't _try_," Kate instructs, her tone clipped and authoritative. "You got yourself up there and now you're going to get back down. I want you to concentrate. You're going to carefully lift your left leg over its flank and then slide to the ground. Preferably without breaking anything. _Or_ losing that blanket. No one wants to see your bare ass swaying in the moonlight tonight. Least of all me."

The stranger isn't for going quietly or without having his say. "I don't know, officer. Did you ask the crowd, because seems to me—"

Kate carries on talking as if the man hasn't even spoken. "Don't forget to bend your knees when you land. This horse must be somewhere north of 17 hands," warns Kate, patting the horse's neck. "And that's a heck of a long way to fall."

The man twists round to look at her over his shoulder. "Wow! Are you always this bossy? That's quite a list. Got any more instructions before I leap?" he asks.

Kate grits her teeth, attempting to ignore the careless display of humor and self-confidence this clown still thinks is acceptable given the circumstances.

"Do you _know_ how much trouble you're in? _Do you?_ Just get off the horse in one piece and then don't move another muscle until I tell you. Understood?" she snaps, frustration finally getting the better of her.

"Officer, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it sounds suspiciously like you care," crows the blanket swaddled stranger, attempting to get further under her skin. "In fact, I think I'd go so far as to say you might be sweet on me," he preens.

Cocky son of a bitch, thinks Kate, barking, "Sir, I said—"

The horse takes this unguarded moment during their back and forth to stamp its feet with impatience and then suddenly lurch a few steps forward. Kate tightens her grip on its halter and pats its flank to calm him down. "Whoa, now," she soothes, holding the horse steady. "Whoa. We'll have him off your back in a minute," she quietly assures the horse, as if this is their secret.

"Sir, it's time. Get off the horse," she instructs in a firm clipped tone, breathing a sigh of relief when the man finally listens to her and begins to dismount.

* * *

Once the inebriated stranger is safely on the ground (wobbling legs aside), to cheers and applause from the crowd, Officer Jurkowski approaches with a bundle of clothing and a pair of expensive looking loafers.

"We found these in a heap near that bench over there, along with a half-empty bottle of Jameson's," he tells Kate. "Looks like he used the bench to mount the horse. Although how he ended up facing backwards is beyond me."

Kate turns to address the blanket wrapped man standing stalk still a few yards away in his bare feet. "Are these your clothes, sir?"

The pleased look in the man's eyes and the nod her gives her reassures her that these are indeed the man's belongings.

"You understand that what you were doing in the park tonight is illegal and we're going to have to take you in."

"Are you arresting me?"

There's a tone of wonder and something close to glee in the man's voice when he asks this. Kate has heard this exact question uttered so many times in the line of duty, but never has she heard it asked in such a tone before, and certainly not from someone with wealth enough to own a pair of $900, Italian leather, Ferragamo loafers.

"Get into the police car quietly, get dressed without a fuss, and I'll refrain from cuffing you. However, give me the slightest provocation and—"

"The cuffs go on," completes the man, with a grin and a glint in his eye.

* * *

Jurkowski hands the horse's reins back to Kate the second she returns from installing the drunk man securely inside their RMP car. He looked nervous at being left in charge of a police horse - a reaction which both satisfied and amused Kate no end. That'll teach him to diss my sushi, she thinks.

"What about the horse's…eh, human partner? Any sign?" asks Kate, giving the horse a reflexive pat.

"Jerry Talbot's with him now. Witnesses found him passed out beneath a tree about 100 yards that way. EMS are on their way," explains Jurkowski, pointing further into the darkness of the park.

"Foul play?"

"Doesn't look that way. Uniform was intact. Still has his sidearm. No signs of injury or trauma. Witness said he found him lying on his side. Talbot says uniform's a bit muddy, but other than that…"

"Took unwell? Maybe thrown from his horse?" surmises Kate.

"Possible. What's your guy saying?

"Far too much for my liking," admits Kate, looking over her shoulder at the locked patrol car where the naked horseman is currently getting dressed.

"He singing like a canary?" grins Jurkowski. "Just wait til the press gets a hold of this one," he chuckles, twirling his cap in his hand.

Kate shakes her head. "No, I meant he's a chatterbox. Just stupid stuff he said when I was putting him in the car. He's still pretty intoxicated. Insists he found the horse wandering by itself just off the pathway. Said he thought it looked lonely."

"_What?_" snorts Jurkowski, slapping his thigh. "So he just stripped off all his clothes and climbed aboard?"

Kate laughs. "Yeah. Doesn't sound too good when you put it like that. What'd you mean about the press?"

"You know. When they find out their Page 6 darling, and best selling mystery novelist, pulled a Lady Godiva in Central Park, riding butt naked on the back of a stolen police horse."

Kate frowns. "Mystery novelist? Wait—"

"Yeah, didn't I tell ya? According to his wallet, the guy in the back of our RMP is none other than millionaire author—"

"Richard _freaking_ Castle," finishes Kate, removing her hat and slapping a hand to her forehead in a sudden burst of recognition.

When she whips her head around, turning shocked eyes on the back of the patrol car to confirm what she already knows to be true, she finds the man himself watching her through the streaked glass of the rear windshield. She spent so much time trying not to ogle the guy's pretty ripped body, when he was sitting several feet above her on the back of the horse, that she more of less neglected to look at his face.

Rookie error, Katie!

"Hope the guys from horse transportation get here soon, cos I'm _starving_," the other cop grumbles, oblivious to Kate's shock at uncovering the identity of their naked joyrider.

"Finally! Here comes the cavalry now," exclaims Jurkowski, walking away to direct the arriving NYPD horse box past the dwindling crowd of spectators, leaving Kate staring at the back of her patrol car with a churning feeling in her gut.

_TBC..._


	2. Chapter 2 - The Desk Sergeant

A/N: Well, it's a long, dark winter, so I say let's enjoy ourselves with a little vintage jackass Castle! :)

Thank you for all the fun reviews to this story so far.

* * *

**_Chapter 2: The Desk Sergeant_**

The ride to precinct house is quite possibly the weirdest Officer Kate Beckett has had to endure in her entire career as a cop thus far.

Sure she's had hookers of all sizes, dress codes and sexual proclivities in the back of her cruiser, their potty mouths as toxic as their coochies; she's had twelve year old, drug mulling, baby-faced gang-bangers with their pants belted so low around their thighs that their CK boxer shorts are on display, these kids giving her all the attitude of 1950's male chauvinists four times their age; and once, she even transported a bipolar man from Bellevue to Central Booking dressed up as Big Bird who refused to let her put his giant, fluffy yellow head in the trunk of her squad car on account it might suffocate back there. But somehow, even a fully clothed and completely silent, Richard Castle is a step beyond all of these past oddities.

She feels like she's in a movie – trapped somewhere between _Moonstruck _and _Nightmare on Elm Street_. If Michael Jackson were to bound out of an alley surrounded by a hoard of ragged zombies all dancing their way through _Thriller_ right now… Well, nothing would surprise her tonight.

She casts darting, furtive glances at their charge via the rearview mirror as she drives, observing him from the legal side of the Crown Vic's old dented security grill, much as she would a rare specimen at the zoo. Come to think of it, Page 6 did refer to him as the "White Whale" once or twice, she remembers reading, allowing herself a secretive internal grin. Who'd have thought she'd be the one to "land him", so to speak. Right now, she just wants to make it back to the precinct and get through writing up his charge sheet before he lawyers up, and she has to throw him back like the rare, protected species he undoubtedly is.

Now that they're on the move, he seems more subdued. In fact, a couple of times, when she glances behind her at his reflection, she suspects he might even have fallen asleep. Visit to a city precinct at night is not the best hangover cure in the world, but it sure does sober them up. Imagining the headache he's got coming, along with the noise and the uncompromising artificial lights, and she actually begins to feel a little sorry for him.

But once they're parked up in front of the Twelfth and she cuts the engine, all bets are off: naptime is over and jackass Castle comes back out to play.

* * *

"Mind your head," instructs Kate, offering what is standard care and practice for any prisoner under transport. Not special treatment for her favorite author. Oh, no. Nor will he hear that information from her lips, she's already determined.

"I'd rather mind your—"

"Think _very_ carefully before you say another word," warns Kate, taking his arm and preparing to haul him indoors.

"Yeah, buddy. Officer Beckett and I missed dinner tonight on account of your little "jockey for a day" stunt. Officer Beckett's blood sugar is bound to be low by now." Jurkowski purses his lips and slowly shakes his head. "And you do _not_ want to mess with that, believe me. No siree," the Polish cop whistles.

Kate gives her partner a glare, and then proceeds to escort Mr. Castle inside the precinct via the front door. She almost hopes a few paps are hanging around outside. In fact, if she'd had a minute to think about it, she'd have called the mutts herself. As it is, the sidewalk is disappointingly quiet out front. Not the best night for a perp walk when you've got the ultimate New York trophy - a famous author on your arm.

A real shame.

* * *

"So, what do we have here?" asks the desk sergeant, giving Kate and her disheveled looking charge the once over as they approach the scarred wooden counter. "Did you get dressed in the dark, guy? Your sweater's on backwards."

"She said she didn't recognize me with my clothes on," Castle tells the desk sergeant, leaning in to speak to him with body language that screams buddy conspiracy, rather than fear of being locked up. "Which seemed a little forward, considering we haven't even been on a first date yet."

'_Date?'_ screams Kate's horrified inner voice. But then their charge is motor-mouthing on, to the obvious amusement of the sergeant, and she has to let that first insult go to keep up with the slew of nonsense coming out of his mouth.

"She made me get dressed in the back of her filthy squad car. Just how often do you people clean out those things? I'm pretty sure I found a fossilized stick of gum from 1982 wedged back in there."

"Get him to sit down and shut up while I go write the report," Kate instructs her partner.

Jurkowski opens his mouth to protest, as he does at least twenty times a shift, until Kate gives him the evil eye and asks, "Unless you fancy doing the paperwork for a change?"

Her partner's nod of acquiescence as he presses down on Mr. Castle's shoulder, forcing him to take a seat on the uncomfortable bench is the hallway, is all the response Kate needs before she's bounding up a flight of stairs to find a desk with a free computer, the words, "Thought not," muttered under her breath.

* * *

When she comes back a short time later, Unusual Occurrence Report PD370-152 in hand, all three men are sitting around chewing the fat over lukewarm cups of precinct coffee. The scene has trouble written all over it. A big buddy bonding session has evidently taken place while she was away grafting, and now her perp, her partner and her boss look like they're auditioning for parts in some debauched, bachelor party road movie.*

Kate Beckett also realizes pretty quickly, from the bawdy laughter and a quick scan of the flushed, grinning faces in front of her, that their prisoner is not the only one in trouble here tonight.

"Here's the charge sheet, Sarge," says Kate, joining the duty Sergeant on his side of the front desk as she slaps down the completed paperwork with all the pep, zeal and vigor she can muster at this time of night and on an empty stomach.

The sergeant idly slides the typed report in front of him across the desk blotter without so much as glancing down at any of the detail Kate has just rushed to get down on paper at this ungodly hour. And why is that, you might ask? Because he's still engrossed in some (apparently hilarious) story Mr. Castle is recounting about a night he spent at an underground go-go bar in Atlantic City.

_A go-go bar! _

Richard Castle is telling tales of derring do that took place in an unlicensed _lap dancing club_ to a duty _Desk Sergeant_ in an _NYPD Precinct House_ while in custody. _A cop shop_! A—

Kate bites her tongue and then takes a deep breath.

He's in the _clink_ and he's still being a cocky son of a bitch.

"Eh, Sarge. The report," nudges Kate, once the three men have stopped laughing hard enough for their hearing to resume working.

She can feel Richard Castle's eyes upon her, so she determinedly ignores the man she's calling "the perp" inside her head. Not the skilled mystery writer whose words of fairness, strength and justice lulled her to sleep after her mother died. Not that man. Because looking at the hung-over specimen in front of her, that man doesn't even exist anymore, if he ever did.

* * *

"You really were butt naked? In the park?" guffaws the Sergeant once he gets just a few lines into Kate's incidence report.

"Yeah," nods Castle, giving the man a "boys will be boys" kind of a shrug and a smile. "That's why she didn't recognize me with my clothes on," he adds, tipping his head in Kate's direction.

"_Excuse me?_" snaps Kate, doubling back in horror when her Sergeant starts to chuckle at Castle's joke. She doesn't know which man to glare at first.

"As I said, that's what first dates are for. You know what I mean, Sarge."

Kate can't believe it. He just called him _"Sarge"_, and Big Bill Bradford, terror of every beat cop in the Twelfth Precinct, is still smiling. This guy has to be some kind of magician, a Svengali or something, because Kate can't ever recall seeing Bradford smile, and certainly never for this long.

And then the author is talking again and Kate's jaw only drops further.

"Yeah, you know what I'm sayin'. You look like a man of the world, Bill. Can I call you Bill?"

The writer doesn't even wait for an answer, just plows right on.

"So, you get it. The whole first date "_get to know you on a more intimate level, and hey do you like maple syrup on your pancakes in the morning_" sort of thing," he says, addressing all of this to the bear of a man in the gut-busting uniform behind the desk. "And she looks like such a nice girl too," Castle adds, while the Sergeant continues to smile in amusement and steam begins to pour out of Kate Beckett's ears.

* * *

"Are you single?"

When Castle finally turns his attention on Kate, she feels - despite herself and her growing personal hatred for this individual, whom she would once have called talented, successful, someone who was actually on her Top 10 list of people she wanted to meet - well, she feels like a movie star on the red carpet being greeted by a phalanx of baying photographers with flashing cameras all calling out her name. She feels stupidly special and in demand. She no longer feels invisible, as she usually does when dressed in her unflattering, bulky, NYPD uniform. She feels pretty and young and how she used to feel when she was still in college, before her mother was murdered and her whole life was turned upside down by the dark underbelly this city fights to conceal from the flood of star-struck tourists who arrive by airplane, train, boat and bus every single day.

But this sudden fantasy is so wrong, and she catches herself just in time, coming to her senses with an almighty crash.

"Am I…_what now?_" splutters Kate, imagining she might actually be delirious from a lack of food, and possibly experiencing auditory hallucinations as a result, if she heard what she thinks she just heard.

"Single? Come on. I know it's late, but it's a simple enough question. Are. You. Single?"

Kate frowns, lowering her hands to her utility belt and broadening her stance as her natural obstinacy kicks in. "Why?"

"Why are you single? Well, that's something I was hoping to find out on our date. In my experience with women of your uh…caliber, it's usually one of two things. Either—"

Kate's eyes slowly widen. Her ears might actually be bleeding at this point. When he utters the word "either" she manages to raise her hands to stop him sharing anymore of his cockeyed little theory about why girls like her are usually single with her two male colleagues – one of which is her partner, who will never let her live this down, the other of which is her superior, who she might one day have to rely on to help her gain promotion. Either way, he needs to shut up right now before her entire hard-won reputation as one of the NYPD's toughest female cops goes down the tubes.

"Hold it right there. Are you asking me out on a _date?_ Is he _actually_ asking me out on a _date?_"

She turns to check this hypothesis with both Jurkowski and Sergeant Bradford, almost straining a muscle in her neck, her head whips back and forth so fast.

"Mm-hmm," she hears Mr. Castle confirm, while the other two just nod, slowly, like matching uniformed bobble heads on the dash of a slow-moving vehicle.

Kate glances at the desk Sergeant, who's leaning in with equal interest awaiting her answer. "Absolutely not," she says, hoping to shut this discussion down fast.

"Why?" persists the writer.

"_Why?_ Because you're a _felon_. Who I just _arrested._ A…a—" she splutters, when he continues to pin her with his startling blue eyes, dark good looks and the sexiest, easiest smile she's been the recipient of in a really long time.

"And a helluva nice guy, if you'll give me a chance. Just ask around," he says expansively, seeming to forget that his current predicament does not make him the most reliable witness on matters of good character.

"You were drunk."

"Just a little."

"In the park. Late at night."

"Mm-hmm," he hums, with a faraway smile that tells her he's reliving his prank like a movie reel in his head right now and still finding it fun.

"And to top it all off, you were naked."

"It was a bet."

"To ride off on a stolen police horse in the middle of New York City? In my line of work we call that Grand Larceny in the Forth Degree. Not to mention extremely irresponsible. Oh, and there _will_ be a public indecency charge thrown in for good measure. Don't think we won't."

"Public indecency?" smirks Castle, stretching his long legs out in front of him as if to prove some point Kate doesn't even want to think about right now. "Is that on account of me being…_naked_, Officer?"

Kate refuses to rise to his provocation. "Under section 245.01 of the New York Penal Code – Exposure of a Person is considered a criminal offense, punishable by up to 15 days in prison or a $250 fine."

Castle laughs in the face of this pat delivery of information, infuriating Kate even further. "I _borrowed_ the horse. I was going to give it back. I _gave_ it back."

"No, we took it back, Mr. Castle."

"Did you get his name by any chance?"

Kate shakes her head and shrugs. "Whose name?"

"My horsey? Is his name in your neat little report there?" he asks, standing so he can lean over the desk to look at the triplicate file report in front of her. "Can I see?"

"Please stay on your side of the counter, Sir. And just how do you know the horse was a _he_? Are you and this horse…personally acquainted by any chance?"

* * *

She's getting pissy, pedantic, slightly losing her cool with this arrogant jerk. But her challenge is an insanely stupid one, a rookie mistake if ever there was one to make with this guy for sure, and she knows it as soon as the words are out of her mouth.

Castle's eyebrows shoot upwards, but then he smirks, lazy, predatory and slow; as if she's some tasty piece of prey he's just spotted across the savannah and now he's preparing to go in for the kill.

Kate inwardly groans when she realizes what's coming next. "Never mind," she begins to say. "Forget I asked."

"Oh, no, Officer…" he leans over to read her badge. "Beckett. And what does the K stand for? No, lemme guess. Konnie? Kasandra? Kleo?"

Kate fights to maintain her cool. "Those names are traditionally spelled with a C not a K," she informs him calmly, some might say prissily.

"Ah, a literary scholar. I like that. Bet you won a lot of spelling bees back in middle school."

Kate rolls her eyes. "My name is of no concern to you. Officer Beckett will do just fine."

"Okey-dokey then. Officer Beckett it is. _So_…back to Mister Ed. Hey, that wasn't his name by any chance?"

Kate shakes her head tiredly. "Nope."

"Anyhoo, who needs a horse with a name. Let's return to matters of a more...sexual nature. Far more fun in my experience," he adds, giving her a wink.

_A wink!_

Kate's eyes widen and she looks to the desk sergeant for support. He merely grins and shrugs, with a "what can you do" kind of expression. It's been a slow night obviously. Kate assumes this is the most fun he'll have seen all shift, if not all month. But right now she hates her superior just a little for enjoying this so much, and for letting this moron run rings around them while he works off his hangover.

* * *

Before she can silence the writer, he's off again with his horse-sexing expertise.

"To determine if an equine is male or female, Officer Beckett, one must simply crouch down low to look beneath the horse where its underbelly rises up between its hind legs and check for a sheath. If—"

Kate's face suddenly feels hot, her cheeks on fire. "Okay, Mr. Castle. That's quite enough," she barks, cutting him dead.

The desk sergeant smirks, barely suppressing a chuckle. Kate feels a fury rise within her at this entirely avoidable humiliation when Jurkowski finally lets rip with an almighty snort at Castle's utterance of the word "sheath". Dirty little boys and their penises, thinks Kate. How utterly obsessed they are.

So she slaps her report back down on the desk, somewhat forgetting her rank, and says, "Sarge, get Mr. Castle arraigned, would you? Just….just _please_ get him out of my sight," before stalking off to the locker room to change with peels of adolescent laughter still ringing in her ears.

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: *The Hangover movie franchise didn't exist back in 2003 or I would have referenced that._

_Before anyone (male or female) complains about the Desk Sergeant's lack of support for his female officer, please remember that this is fiction and I'm aiming for humor. Also, I'm pretty sure this is not so far from the truth on occasion. Rick Castle can talk his way out of anything, as we know._


	3. Chapter 3 - The Phone Call

**_Chapter 3 – The Phone Call_**

When Officer Kate Beckett returns to the Twelfth Precinct the next morning, ready to begin a new daytime shift pattern, she enters the busy lobby with long, purposeful strides only to find one Richard Castle - he of the naked nighttime horse ride - sitting on a bench in the hallway, apparently awaiting release.

She stops dead in her tracks at the bottom of the half flight of stairs that leads up to the main police reception, a half-drunk cup of to-go coffee in hand, almost sloshing the hot liquid over her jacket with the speed of her own deceleration.

What is that arrogant son of a bitch still doing here, is her first thought. That the institutional, precinct strip lighting is doing him no favors in the good looks department is probably her second. He looks rumpled, washed out and unshaven, the dark circles under his eyes and the sickly pallor of his skin ageing him beyond his thirty years. And no, she did not hunt down her mother's copy of _Gathering Storm_ from a storage box when she got home last night just so that she could read every scrap of personal information she could glean from his biog. Especially not his age. No, she did not do that. She wouldn't.

Right now, it's all about containment, she reminds herself. It's about having a good poker face and maintaining her professional froideur. Time to break out the "cop stare" she's spent so much time perfecting on worthless little street punks. That'll show this guy who's boss. She quickly squares her shoulders before someone wonders what the heck she's doing loitering in the lower hall before shift with an untouched cup of coffee in her hand, practically muttering to herself. Then she climbs the stairs that will take her past the front desk (and Mr. Castle's bench) with all the stealth of a ninja warrior.

* * *

"What's he doing here?" she asks the female desk sergeant, Cathy "Hardass" Halliday, keeping her back turned to her previous night's collar.

The desk sergeant answers Kate's question without even looking up from her dog-eared copy of that morning's_ Post_. "Charges were dropped."

Kate spins on her heel to look at Mr. Castle, as if another glimpse of the man might explain this legal travesty, and then she spins back around to face the sergeant. "Dropped? How? When? And_…_and_ why?_"

Sergeant Halliday closes her newspaper with a papery rustle in order to observe the writer for herself. She regards him with the suspicious eye of someone trained to judge all persons entering this building as suspicious; guilty until proven innocent, cops included.

"Seems Mr. Castle over there has friends in high places. Used his phone call wisely."

"What…what do you mean?" asks Kate, feeling an impatience rise within her at the laconic attitude of the superior in front of her, cushy in her desk job and just a few years off her twenty.

"Rumor has it, he plays poker with the Mayor."

"_The Mayor?_" hisses Kate, seething as she watches her arrest rate lose another collar - a big, fat, prestigious collar - and right at the end of the month too.

_Dammit!_

* * *

"Good morning, Officer Beckett. You're looking lovely today."

Kate freezes, her spine stiffening, as soon as she recognizes the sing-song voice, slick as warm honey, daring to pour out words of appreciation for her appearance after he just squirmed his way out of the slam dunk arrest she made last night.

She's utterly stunned by the gall of the man, and the look she gives him when she turns to face him down would turn lesser men to stone. But not this cocky jerk, oh no.

"I'm wearing my uniform, Mr. Castle. Same as yesterday," she reminds him flatly. "Same as every day, when I show up here and try to do my job," she adds, for extra bite.

"Then maybe you did something different with your hair?" he suggests hopefully, giving her a bright "go on, you know you love me" grin.

"My hair is in a bun. Per department uniform policy, same as always."

"New lipstick?"

"Look, Mr. Castle, I don't know what _magic_ you managed to work to get off the charges you were facing when I left here last night, but let me tell you something for free. I _never_ forget a face or a name once they've crossed my path. So I wouldn't go pulling anymore stunts like the one you engaged in last night or you will find yourself needing a whole lot more than the Mayor on speed dial to get yourself out of the tight spot I'll jam you into. Understand? And I don't wear lipstick. _Ever._"

She honestly can't believe she just said that – dissing the Mayor and threatening to jam up a civilian, a high profile one at that, and with witnesses present too. Though the way the desk sergeant is looking at her right now, she'd swear the woman would break out a set of pompoms and give her one almighty cheer if she had any.

"Ah, so you appreciate magic too? Perfect. The study of magic is one of my favorite pastimes. Always good to meet a fellow believer."

What the actual hell is he talking about magic for, Kate wonders? And then it hits her.

She begins to hyperventilate. "_Magic? Magic?_ _That's_ all you took from what I just said?"

Castle remains as cool as a cucumber. "You seem a little tense, if I might say."

"_Tense?_" barks Kate, beginning to notice the heat of the stares people passing through reception are levelling upon her.

"Angry then."

Angry? Oh, she's angry all right.

"Thanks to you, my nickname around here is now _The Horse Whisperer,_" spits Kate, keeping her tone low, lest she throw fuel on that particular bonfire herself.

"Wow! News travels fast," remarks Castle, with an inflection that tells her he's actually impressed. "Still, could be worse, I suppose."

"Worse? How exactly could it be worse?"

"Oh, there are a lot more derogatory names you could have ended up with. Believe me, I know. I went to boarding school. At least _The Horse Whisperer_ is accurate, nay deserved and somewhat...dignified."

"I'm sure if I worked in the Mounted Unit I'd be thrilled," Kate notes dryly. "As it is, working the streets out of a squad car…not much call for horse wrangling."

"Then I actually did you a favor last night."

"How exactly do you figure that?" she frowns, no shortage of incredulity in her voice.

"I allowed you to display your superlative equine management skills to your superiors, without having to shovel horse shit for a living."

Kate just stares in amazement for a second or two until she finds her voice. "That is quite possibly _the_ most absurd piece of deductive reasoning I have ever encountered."

"Then we should celebrate."

"Celebrate? Celebrate what? Your ridiculously shaky logic?"

"If that's what you want to call it, fine by me. How about dinner tonight?"

"_Dinner?_" gapes Kate.

She's vaguely aware of Sergeant Halliday taking a breath behind her, and the squeak of protest given up by the old wooden counter as the burly woman leans forward on her elbows, straining to hear Kate's reply. And since when did being the precinct gossip become integral to the role of a desk sergeant?

"Well, I would suggest breakfast, but since I haven't slept or showered since yesterday and you look like you're arriving for a shift…probably best make it dinner. What time shall I pick you up?"

"I'm not usually left speechless at my place of work, Mr. Castle, but—"

"Rick. Please. You've seen me naked already. I think we've moved beyond certain formalities, don't you. So, call me Rick. And you're Kate, if I'm not mistaken."

Kate slumps against a wall. "Just who did you have to bribe to find that out?"

"No bribery. I merely informed Bill…uh, that's Sergeant Bradford to you that I wanted to represent myself at my arraignment. So, of course, they had to give me access to your arrest report and the charge sheet in order to prepare my defense."

Kate rolls her eyes at this overstatement of the facts. Prepare his defense?

"All I had to do was scan the report. Officer Kate Beckett - it was typed right there in black and white. I happen to be blessed with a photographic memory," he boasts, tapping the side of his nose like some over-grown Columbo, minus the beige raincoat. "And I speed read too," he adds, in a velvet voice that suggests this latter skill may have worked as quite the panty dropper at one time or another, though God only knows why.

"But then you made that call."

"Yep."

"You found out what you wanted to know from my paperwork and then you made the call. You never had any intention of representing yourself, did you?" states Kate, crossing her arms.

"I know what I did last night was stupid. Usually, I'm not that dumb, believe it or not. Representing myself at an arraignment hearing would have been a step beyond, even for me. I had no idea what plea would have been advisable to enter, and as for arguing for bail…"

Kate's voice takes on an air of amusement streaked through with sarcasm when she replies. "Mr. Castle, you would have been issued with a fine and a slap on the wrist. Assuming you managed to keep your mouth in check long enough not to piss off the judge. So let's not make this any more high stakes than it actually was."

"Right. My mother is an actress. I've been told I may have inherited her tendency to over-dramatize situations."

"No kidding," mutters Kate, kicking a scuffmark on the worn lino floor tiles with the toe of her black boot.

"Please, just let me take you out to dinner to apologize for my behavior last night, if nothing else? You'd make me feel a whole lot better about myself."

Kate stares at him, her head tipped to one side in an almost sympathetic fashion. "Is everything always about you?"

"No, look, that came out wrong. I really am sorry. I behaved like an ass in front of your boss and your partner. I'd like the chance to show you…to…to let you see that's not who I really am."

Kate narrows her eyes, her mind whirring at a hundred miles an hour. "Why do you even care what I think of you? I'm just a cop and you're…_you._"

"Because you seem like a really nice person, Kate Beckett. Sharp, intelligent, resourceful…not to mention beautiful. I'd like to get to know more about—"

* * *

Jan Jurkowski choses this exact moment to enter the precinct hallway at speed, racing his way past them en route to the locker room, still dressed in his street clothes.

"Hey, Beckett," he says, giving his partner a nod. "See you up in squad?"

"Yeah, sure. Be there in a minute."

When Jurkowski notices who Kate appears to be in conversation with, he halts a few steps away. "You okay? Is he—"

"No. No, everything is fine," Kate assures her partner. "Go on ahead. Get us a good spot. After last night, I'm hoping for a special assignment today. I heard Narco are looking for volunteers to make street buys. Ask around up there for me, would you?"

"You are one glutton for punishment, Beckett. I'll see what I can do," says Jurkowski, giving Castle a brief wave, before heading upstairs.

"Look, I really have to go. Roll call is in five and if I'm late—"

Castle stands. "No, it's fine. I should get going too. Got to get home, shower and change, before a meeting at my publisher's office at ten," he explains, checking his watch and then making a face. "And if you think your patrol supervisor is scary…you really should meet my editor."

Out of politeness, Kate waits until the writer has finished speaking. She doesn't imagine she will ever meet this man's editor, or inhabit his world in any way. To even brush up against that idea would be mental insanity, since it's that kind of thinking that needles you day in and day out, making you dissatisfied with the life you've carved out for yourself and curious about a life you will never attain. No, she has to shut this down before it goes any further.

"Right, well. Have a good day, Mr. Castle, and please…try to stay out of trouble from now on."

Kate sticks out her hand, attempting to remain professional and to be conciliatory, despite the idiot this man has attempted to make out of her over the last twelve or so hours.

"Wait. You never answered my question. What time should I pick you up for dinner?"

Kate sighs, dropping her hand back to her side. "Mr. Castle, I can't," she says, shaking her head, suddenly feeling an inward surge of disappointment that is at odds with almost every fact before her, including her own, normally sound, judgment.

"Well, that would be a real shame. Can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

Kate gives him a wan, almost regretful smile.

* * *

"_Mr. Castle, your ride is here!_" bellows Sergeant Hardass out of nowhere.

The older cop flashes Kate an innocent grin when she spins in surprise to stare at the women following this needless foghorn of an announcement. The volume she just managed to produce was pointless, even gratuitous, since they're only standing a few feet away from the front desk.

Castle fishes for his wallet with a haste derived of panic before Kate can make her final escape upstairs. "Look, here's my card," he says, thrusting a stiff, elegant looking business card towards her. "If you change your mind…just…anytime—" he shrugs, a whiff of desperation, and perhaps some longing Kate doesn't quite understand, lingering around this gesture.

Kate takes the card in both hands and she stares at it. "I really do have to go," she says quietly, though she would probably admit to feeling some flicker of disappointment too, but only if tortured.

"Go! Go! I don't want you to get in any trouble on my account. And take care out there today," he adds, offering her his hand to shake. "Stay away from naked horsemen," he grins.

"Thank you. I'll try," she chuckles despite herself, finally shaking his hand.

Something about the way his hand makes her feel gives her pause. His skin is warm, smooth and dry against hers, the back of his hand hairless and tan. She notices that his nails are short and well kept, his fingers thicker than average. His grip is firm and confident, leading to a handshake that somehow feels familiar and more like being wrapped up in a tight hug. Something about the way this feels has her smiling at him, as a warmth no cup of coffee could ever provide spreads throughout her body like a stain.

"It was nice meeting you, Kate Beckett. I hope we run into each other again some day."

"Hopefully under less…_unusual_ circumstances," she suggests, ducking her head a little shyly.

"Maybe," nods Castle, his smile a mite wistful when he lets go of her hand and takes a step back.

He taps the toe of his Ferragamo loafer against a crack in the worn linoleum a couple of times as if to punctuate the end of their conversation, and then he offers her the merest suggestion of a bow, before nodding once more and turning on his heel to leave.

Kate watches her favorite author walk away this time, allowing herself this final chance to observe him before New York City claims him from her. The height and size of his frame, the broadness of his back, shoulders as powerful as any wide receiver; he is an impressive specimen of masculinity, there is no denying. But then he doesn't look back, and the moment of fractured longing passes.

She chews on her lip while staring down at his business card once more, her gaze locked on the tasteful, sophisticated lettering until the black font starts to dance like a puppet in front of her eyes.

When she looks up again and turns, the female desk sergeant is leaning over the battered old counter, her chin resting on her hands, watching her.

She gives Kate a smile, and then tips her head in the direction of the front door. "How many millionaires asked you out this month, Beckett? Go on. What are you waiting for?"

Kate's cheeks flood with heat, but she finds herself flashing the sergeant a crazy grin, before she turns on her heel and begins running for the exit.

"Mr. Castle? Wait up!"

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4 - The Ride

_A/N: Had hoped to post this update yesterday but then the site broke down. :( Apologies for the delay. At least it let me use the downtime to write chapter 5, which should be up in a couple of days. Fun and games to come._

* * *

_**Chapter 4 – The Ride**_

_Previously..._

_Kate watches her favorite author walk away this time, allowing herself this final chance to observe him before New York City claims him from her. The height and size of his frame, the broadness of his back, shoulders as powerful as any wide receiver; he is an impressive specimen of masculinity, there is no denying. But then he doesn't look back, and the moment of fractured longing passes._

_She chews on her lip while staring down at his business card once more, her gaze locked on the tasteful, sophisticated lettering until the black font starts to dance like a puppet in front of her eyes._

_When she looks up again and turns, the female desk sergeant is leaning over the battered old counter, her chin resting on her hands, watching her._

_She gives Kate a smile, and then tips her head in the direction of the front door. "How many millionaires asked you out this month, Beckett? Go on. What are you waiting for?"_

_Kate's cheeks flood with heat, but she finds herself flashing the sergeant a crazy grin, before she turns on her heel and begins running for the exit._

_"Mr. Castle? Wait up!"_

* * *

Kate's heart is racing as she hurries to catch up with Richard Castle before he can skip the confines of the precinct without knowing that she has changed her mind.

Because she has changed her mind. Hasn't she?

This question and its complicated answer give her sufficient reason to pause, mentally speaking, that her footsteps begin to slow down a little. From the rat-a-tat rush of mere seconds ago they take on a more sedate pace, allowing her time to think.

Because this – what she's doing right now – is a risk. No question.

It's a huge risk: running after a legendary playboy. A playboy she had just arrested. A playboy who managed to finagle his way out of the entirely legitimate charges the NYPD was set to bring down on him by calling in a favor; a favor which allowed him to evade the clutches of justice completely. Ordinarily she wouldn't give a guy like that the time of day. In fact, she'd go so far as to say that she'd bide her time awaiting her chance to wreak revenge on his sorry, entitled ass.

But two things are stopping her from taking that route.

First of all, he actually happens to be her favorite author. This emotional connection becomes all the more complicated by the fact that it was her mother who discovered his novels first before passing that knowledge on. This shared love of his writing is one Kate finds difficult to look beyond, since it's almost as if her mother had somehow given the man her prior approval to be a part of Kate's life, in some shape or form, before she died.

Second of all, it has been a long time since anyone decent asked her out on a date (if you can even call this millionaire writer, with a reputation for the ladies, "decent"). She wears a uniform all day long, a really unflattering uniform that gives her an ass and hips that she doesn't even own, chunky, unbecoming curves that she removes at the end of each day along with her utility belt and her 50/50 polyester nylon blend pants. She's also completely surrounded by male cops at work, cops who appear to be either married or married to the job, and who treat her like the little sister they never had…if she's lucky. Her time off is spent at the Laundromat, buying groceries she has no time or inclination to cook, catching up with her dad for the odd breakfast, and working on her mother's case when the need for sleep lets up enough to allow. So the opportunity to meet anyone of substance is severely limited by circumstance these days. A little help in that department should not be overlooked lightly, if her life is to get any better before she herself hits thirty.

If there was a point three and four to all the brain turmoil and self-justification Kate is engaging in, as she slows to a halt just inside the front door of the precinct house, it's that a) She _really_ needs to get laid, and b) Her Sergeant just gave her the thumbs up to do so. What happens next is a mere stumbling block on the road to happiness; a pesky pothole in her plan, send to test her resolve.

* * *

"Well looky here. If it isn't _The Horse Whisperer_ in the flesh," greets Alex "A-hole" McAllister, as he shoulders his way through the front doors with his wingman Greg Henderson.

"Now that is one ride I would not mind taking," mutters _A-hole_, loud enough for Kate to hear, though the comment is clearly intended for his partner in crime.

"Giddy-up, baby," clucks Henderson, a thick-necked redhead with a flat top buzz cut that makes the top of his skull look like the flight deck of an aircraft carrier.

Kate's heart sinks on hearing the new nickname she has the man she's currently running after – like _literally_ running after – to thank for. She feels her hackles begin to rise even further when the two men fist bump one another at her expense. When she hears the gratuitous whinnying and neighing sounds the men begin to make as she approaches, she slows to a saunter.

"How's the wife, McAllister?" she asks, trying to keep the smirk off her face by maintaining the grimace the pair had just put on it.

When the grin on the brash looking cop's face melts away and the equine sound effects fade into silence, Kate goes in for the kill.

"Oh, that's right. I forgot," she says, smacking herself on the forehead in a gesture of mock amnesia. "She left you for her girlfriend, didn't she? Sorry to hear that. But what can you do?" grins Kate, giving the two men an overly perky, bouncy little shrug. "The heart wants what the heart wants, I guess. Well...see ya!" she tosses over her shoulder, ignoring the growl of displeasure coming from behind as she finally bursts out onto the steps outside.

The air is fresh, the sun rising high on what looks like will soon be a beautiful, early spring day. Kate inhales a lungful of oxygen as she scans the sidewalk for signs of the departing writer. She hopes Jurkowski's got her talked to the head of the line for some undercover work today. The thought of being cooped up inside the stale environs of a squad car for the next eight and a half hours with her partner - who she does actually like - debating what's for lunch all morning is more than she can bear.

* * *

At first she can't see him, so she stands still for a moment or two with her hand over her eyes, shielding her face from the direct sun, while she performs a recce of the parking area and the sidewalk, crowded with patrol cars and unmarked's, aided by the elevation provided by the precinct steps.

She suddenly remembers what Sergeant Halliday had yelled out when they were still standing inside chatting: that his ride had arrived. So she immediately checks curbside, expecting to find an idling yellow cab perhaps or maybe a fancy car service vehicle, given who we're talking about here. What she finds instead is a classic car with a text-book, classy blond idling by the driver's side door, her bare arm resting on the gleaming, removable hardtop, a row of gold bracelets glinting in the morning sun.

The car is the most perfect specimen of a 1970 classic Mercedes-Benz 280 SL that Kate has ever seen. The interior is red leather, which contrasts perfectly with the silver blue bodywork and shiny chrome detail of the exterior. But any envy she might have for the car flies out the window completely when she spots Castle opening the passenger door preparing to leave, and she begins hurrying down the front steps to reach him, without actually pausing long enough to put two and two together first.

Her shift is about to start, her Sergeant is expecting her back inside with news, and it's about damn time she went on a date with a man who will at least offer, nay expect, to pick up the tab, even if she intends paying her share all along. These are the excuses she will tell herself later to explain her hasty, unthinking action. Right now though, she heads hell for leather towards the classic car as fast as her long legs will carry her.

When Castle stretches across the roof of the car to squeeze the hand of the female driver, Kate dismisses it as nothing. But when she's still yards off and he gets inside, folding his large body into the red leather bucket seat, and the woman sitting beside him leans over to kiss him on the cheek—

Well, that's when she comes to a slamming halt in the middle of the broad sidewalk that aprons the front of the Twelfth.

She was going to risk it. On this jerk? She was actually going to risk it all – her reputation, her self-respect, her golden rule of _never_ dating anyone she met at work – though up until today that rule had never actually had to include men she had _arrested_ at work. She would be amending that rule from here on in to include this new and dangerous possibility for sure. In fact, given this was Richard Castle - with the entourage and the crazy fans and the seemingly endless _Page Six_ appearances with numerous interchangeable blonds on his arm - she would probably have ended up losing her sanity too. So it was with a crushing sense of disappointment and an ego-bolstering jolt of self-preservation that she told herself it was better this way.

The man had called up his "ride", aka girlfriend, much like he'd used the Mayor. But then he'd gone on to chat her up while he was sitting around the precinct killing time: trying to persuade her to go out on a date with him when he'd just fucked things up for her at work, managing to make a laughing stock of her twice in the space of twelve lousy hours. Just thinking about it made her mad – the nickname he thought was perfect and earned, him lounging on a bench in front of her Sergeant, wearing those insanely expensive Italian leather shoes, telling her how good she looked in uniform, how smart and intelligent and…beautiful.

Kate shakes her head, utterly disgusted at herself for falling for his charm so easily, equally disappointed to find she was just another available female he thought would fall into his lap if he fed her just one more well-judged, perfectly pitched line. Close but no cigar, buddy!

It just wasn't meant to be. Dates with millionaire writers weren't supposed to happen to girls like her: girls with miserable pasts harboring murdered mothers and alcoholic fathers; girls who give up their dreams for the ghosts that lurk under their beds and in the back of their minds; girls who are so young and yet damaged that they no longer believe in fate or magic or love at first sight, despite being of such a tender age that they have had little chance to experience any of these phenomena for themselves before writing them off as baseless bunkum.

Her anger at Richard Castle fades quickly enough that she manages to box up the desire to run over to the car, lean in through the window and tell him she'll accept his offer of a date, knowing full well that his blond girlfriend would be sitting there looking on in surprise. She's better than that.

No, it's time to start this day over, she tells herself, tossing her tepid takeout coffee in the trashcan by the front door before she bounds up the steps to the precinct's front entrance. The old wood and glass doors rebound on their strong, brass hinges, flapping helplessly once Kate is safely on the other side, oblivious to the yell and the screech of tires behind her.

* * *

Kate sprints up the short flight of steps to the lobby with her cheeks burning, planning to streak through the reception area unnoticed so that she can make a dash for roll call without having to face any awkward questions from Sergeant Halliday.

Too late! The woman has the eyesight of a bald eagle.

"Hey, Beckett! You need me to recommend a lipstick that'll work with your skin tone? Maybe lend you a dress?" suggests the burly desk sergeant at a volume designed to entertain anyone vaguely in the vicinity of the front hall.

Sergeant Halliday nudges a male colleague after delivering this incredulous offer. The pair descend into a fit of helpless giggles that soon have them clutching at one another while they jig around behind the counter like a couple of tots in a sandbox hearing their first toilet joke.

"That won't be necessary, Sarge," nods Kate, proudly jutting out her chin, squaring her shoulders and taking her medicine like a man.

"Why not? My dresses not good enough for you?" demands her superior, unwilling to give up this ridiculous joke just yet.

Her shoulders shudder and then she and her sidekick are off again, laughing until tears stream down their faces at the thought of tall, slender, stylish Kate Beckett ever donning any dress worn by Sergeant Halliday, and for a date with a millionaire no less.

"Mr. Castle's ride, Sarge. It was his girlfriend," explains Kate, saying the magic words that have the effect of sobering her superior up immediately.

"Oh. Oh, dammit, Beckett. I'm sorry. I had no idea." Sergeant Halliday looks genuinely contrite, which somehow makes it worse.

"No harm done," Kate shrugs, attempting to brush the whole mess off. "Just wasn't meant to be," she tells the woman bravely, digging her nails into the palm of her hand to combat the unexpected look of sympathy Cathy "Hardass" Halliday is now sending her way.

"Right. Well, better get going then," says the sergeant, her brusque demeanor utterly at odds with the hilarity of a minute ago. "Garcia's on roll call. He'll have my ass if you're late," she warns Kate, attempting to rescue the young cop's mood with a little tough love.

"Thanks, Sarge," nods Kate, swiftly heading for the stairs.

* * *

The old wooden doors on the front of the building shudder and shake, whiffle-waffling back and forth just as Kate is clearing the very last step on the second floor landing.

Sergeant Halliday instinctively looks up from her newspaper upon hearing this Pavlovian sound to check what flavor of guilty is about to cross her path. When she sees what's coming, she closes the newspaper altogether, slowly shakes her head and then she leans forward on the front desk with her chin resting on her hands.

"Well, well, well. Would you look at what the cat dragged back in. What do you want, Mr. Castle?" she demands, when the writer sidles up to her counter looking flushed and out of breath.

"There's been some terrible mistake," he gasps, clutching at his chest with all the drama of a Tony-winning actor. "You have to arrest me."

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5 - The Hail Mary

_A/N: Glad the last chapter of this little caper took some of you by surprise. Thanks to those who left reviews. Really appreciate the support._

_This chapter is for CB, who spotted that the inspiration for the desk sergeant in this story is none other than Sergeant Trudy Platt from Chicago PD, played by the wonderful Amy Morton. Love her mix of tough, sarcastic, funny and caring._

_Hope tonight's Castle is as good as it promises to be. Enjoy whenever you get your chance to watch._

* * *

**_Chapter 5 – The Hail Mary_**

_Previously..._

_The old wooden doors on the front of the building shudder and shake, whiffle-waffling back and forth just as Kate is clearing the very last step on the second floor landing._

_Sergeant Halliday instinctively looks up from her newspaper upon hearing this Pavlovian sound to check what flavor of guilty is about to cross her path. When she sees what's coming, she closes the newspaper altogether, slowly shakes her head and then she leans forward on the front desk with her chin resting on her hands._

_"Well, well, well. Would you look at what the cat dragged back in. What do you want, Mr. Castle?" she demands, when the writer sidles up to her counter looking flushed and out of breath._

_"There's been some terrible mistake," he gasps, clutching at his chest with all the drama of a Tony-winning actor. "You have to arrest me."_

* * *

Richard Castle is holding his hands out in front of him, wrists close together to indicate that he wants, needs, indeed _expects_, the desk sergeant to cuff him on the spot. The clown.

"Mr. Castle, what _do_ you think you're doing?" frowns Sergeant Halliday. "Stop waving your hands in front of me like some Subway panhandler."

"You have to arrest me, Sarge. I did wrong. I should take my punishment like a man," he whines, sounding more like a little kid than the fully grown male he purports to be.

"What are you talking about?" is accompanied by a withering glare in his general direction.

"Just arrest me, please?" he begs, thrusting his wrists towards the female cop once more. "Promise I'll go quietly this time. No phone call, no lawyer."

"Did you manage to perpetrate another crime on the short walk between here and the sidewalk? Well, did you?" she demands, her hands now riding on her ample hips, just a hair's breadth away from her holstered gun, Castle observes with a sinking heart.

The writer shakes his head, and then he opens his mouth to speak once more. But Sergeant Halliday cuts him off.

"Then please leave. Your charges were dropped. Mr. Castle. At your own insistence, I might add. My lockup is for deserving criminals only, not the likes of you. So, go on. Scoot! Stop wasting my time. You're making my precinct look untidy, loitering in the hall with your tail between your legs. This is not a reading room or a bookshop, you know," she adds pointedly, before flicking open the newspaper with an impatient snap of her sturdy wrist to resume reading where she left off, somewhat undermining her last point.

Castle loiters anyway, since this is too important not to risk his freedom on. Let the grouchy woman in the white shirt and black pants standing behind the desk throw him in her lousy lockup for defying her marching orders. At least then he'd still be under the same roof as Kate Beckett. She might even come visit him if she hears of his plight, setup a campaign to spring him perhaps, if she takes pity on his ruggedly handsome face. _Free The Central Park One!_

But when Castle stares at his last great hope of salvaging the cluster fuck he's made of the last two days, he finds her utterly removed from his sphere – the desk sergeant's head is down as she mouths the words of some gossipy article about Rosie O'Donnell she reading in the rag in front of her. He's gone from her head, expunged, as surely as if he'd done what she asked and left the precinct. He needs to try another tack…like flattery.

* * *

"Come on. Help me out here, Sarge," Castle pleads, finally acknowledging the giant elephant in the room: that they both know exactly why he came back in here, begging to be thrown into a holding cell - one Officer Katherine Beckett.

Sergeant Halliday looks up slowly, her gaze landing on him and lingering there with no small amount of distaste; much as it might land on a toddler who'd just pulled down his pants and taken a dump in the middle of her living room floor. "I already made the mistake of helping you out, Mr. Castle. Why do you think she came after you in the first place?"

This is news!

"_You_ did that?" he gasps in surprise, feeling a delightful jolt of hope rush up his spine.

The female sergeant nods, crossing her arms beneath her ample breasts.

Castle's face splits into an ear-to-ear grin. "_See!_ See, I _knew_ you believed in young love," he declares, pointing at the woman in a gesture of triumph.

Cathy Halliday peers over the desk at him with some incredulity. "Young love? For her maybe. Personally, I'd say you're a little long in the tooth for that description."

Castle ignores the woman's jibe at his age and carries on. "You do know that I'm a quick study of human nature. I figure people out. That's what I do," he crows, pacing back and forth in front of the counter with a new, burst of restless energy. "That is the skill of a good writer," he tells the desk sergeant, before turning his pointer finger on himself. "And _I_ am a _very_ good writer," he adds, jabbing at his chest for emphasis.

"That so?" drawls the cop, either disbelieving or bored, he can't quite tell. (So much for quick study.)

"Uh-huh, and what I've figured out about you—"

The desk sergeant leans forward over the counter to listen closely to Castle's next pearl of wisdom. "Oh, I cannot _wait_ to hear this," she mutters sarcastically, before offering up a butter-wouldn't-melt, lash-fluttering grin.

"What I've figured out, _dear_ Sergeant Halliday, is that behind the tough-girl routine…" he pontificates, waving his hand in Halliday's general direction to indicate that he means her.

"Tough girl? Son, I'm practically old enough to be your mother."

Castle holds up his hand to silence her interruption. "Behind that tough façade is a woman who still believes in romance."

The air goes still for a panicky moment and Castle holds his breath.

"_Romance?_ Listen up, Mr. Castle. If you were such a quick study you'd have figured out that asking Beckett out on a date _while_ your girlfriend was sitting outside in an idling car like…like some gangster's moll was no way to go about getting back in anyone's good books. Let alone those of a fine young woman like Officer Beckett."

"How was I to know she'd follow me out of the building? I called Gina to come pick me up before I even knew Kate would be coming in for a shift this morning. I thought I'd never see her again."

"So your little plan backfired," smirks Cathy Halliday, rather smugly.

"What plan?" asks Castle, looking genuinely blank-faced.

"To pick yourself up a new girlfriend before you left the precinct, while your current girlfriend drives the getaway car outside?"

"Did I forget to mention that Gina is _not_ my girlfriend?"

"Who's Gina?"

"The woman in the car, who is also _not_ my girlfriend."

"That so?" asks Sergeant Halliday, in a tone that says she finds that statement utterly lacking in credibility. "Well, that's not the impression Officer Beckett got. And I have to say my money's on her, Mr. Castle."

Castle finally stops pacing the floor. He's had it. "Gina is _not_ my girlfriend. She's my _editor_."

* * *

At last! Sergeant Halliday looks as if she's just heard something that might make some kind of difference to her hastily formed, snap judgement that he, Richard Castle, is a low-life, two-timing slimeball. "If you're lying to me…" she growls.

"I'm not. I swear on my daughter's life," he insists, holding up both hands in a gesture he hopes makes him look honest at the very least, honest and submissive at best.

"A daughter? Poor child," tuts Halliday, slowly shaking her head.

"Look, I might be a total screw-up in some areas. But, believe it or not, I am an excellent dad."

"Is that so," says Halliday, somewhat skeptically. "You play with your kid?"

"All the time. We play laser tag together. I got her this cute little child size vest. You should see it," Castle chatters animatedly, as he always does when talking about Alexis. "Now she whips my ass every time."

"I have no idea what that is," replies the cop, deadpan. "Does she like you?"

"She_ loves_ me."

"Lucky for you, cause kids are a great judge of character."

"Is this some kind of interview? I'm suddenly feeling less than prepared."

"You were buck naked on the back of a stolen horse last night. Your lack of preparation didn't seem to worry you then."

"I was pretty drunk at the time and I already explained that I _found_ that horse."

* * *

Sergeant Halliday takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. She considers Castle for a second, cocking her head to one side in a gesture he hopes means she's softening towards him.

"Look. Let me lay it out for you in language you might understand. Officer Beckett is a special person. You hear what I'm saying? She's good people, Mr. Castle. She works damn hard, helps out anyone who needs helping, offers to take shifts all the time as a favor to the guys with families. And I mean crappy shifts, Mr. Castle. Imagine Christmas, New Years, July 4th when you cannot _move_ in this city for stupid drunks…though thankfully most of them are not to be found on horseback," she adds, giving him a pointed, withering look.

Castle nods, keeping his mouth shut for once, taking his medicine for the sake of the bigger risk at play.

"Point is: you mess her around, you'll have me to deal with—"

"Yes, but I—"

Sergeant Halliday holds her hand up in front of her as if she means to stop traffic. "Mr. Castle, I'm not finished yet. You will have me to deal with, along with the rest of her brothers and sisters in blue. That's over 34,000 pairs of eyes ready to look up your ass to see if your hat's on straight the second you put a foot wrong. You think you're ready for that kind of scrutiny?"

Castle nods, turning his most sincere, blue-eyed gaze on Sergeant Halliday. It's the kind of Hail Mary move he thought he'd long given up pulling as a means of getting into a woman's pants. Though he'd settle for getting into their good graces right now, especially where Kate Beckett is concerned.

"Please, just tell me how to get back in her good books," he begs, hands clasped together as if in prayer.

"Why are you even interested in that girl?" the sergeant persists, giving him what he imagines is meant to be a death stare. The woman looks as if she can see right inside his soul. Not even his mother can do that, and she's known him all her life.

"You have met her, right?" he asks, taking the honest route just in case she can read what's inside his heart.

"Okay, dumb question," admits the cop. "She is great police and—"

"A total knockout," adds Castle, nodding enthusiastically.

Sergeant Halliday narrows her eyes at him. "Mr. Castle, do you want my help or not?"

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6 - The Hiccup

_**Chapter 6 – The Hiccup**_

Around eight hours later, Richard Castle is standing outside the front of the Twelfth Precinct trying to look as if he isn't loitering with some dishonorable intent, while cop after cop passes before him. They stride in and out with their guns holstered, cuffs pressed into the small of their backs, batons and flashlights, notepads and hand sanitizer, pepper spray, tasers and whatever the hell else they secrete about their duty belts and persons to make them look like chunky, disproportioned cyber beings that rattle and clink when they walk.

"Hmm," the writer thinks, rubbing his chin, when this last descriptive thought strikes. "Cyber cops? Might actually be something in that for future use."

But then the big old doors swing open again with a squeak and a _puddunk,_ and the thought is lost before he can file it away, superseded by the nerves churning right in the heart of his midsection. He never gets nervous, but tonight he is. There's a lot riding on this – a whole hell of a lot considering he's acting under Sergeant _Hardass_ Halliday's instructions. He wrecks this one and a whole pile of crap is going to rain down on his perfectly coiffured head. She made that point perfectly clear for him earlier today. 34,000 pairs of eyes with Cathy herself at the top of the pile, peepers like human binoculars. He shudders at the thought, willing himself not to screw this up the way he's screwed up every other date he's gone on lately.

She actually ran a background check on him, told him so to his face while she trawled through every system she had legitimate access to - and probably a good few she didn't – looking for outstanding warrants, prior arrests, unpaid fines, parking violations and driving infractions. She ran a gun license check, did a property ownership search looking for liens, mortgage arrears, alimony payments skipped, and on and on. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd checked his credit score, pulled his financials, Googled his name for gossip, scoured his Facebook page for dodgy photographs, studied his website to read the many fan boards dedicated to his books, the fan fiction _based_ on his books, and the unseemly obsession centered around his private life. Hell, she's probably got his phone tapped by now.

So dating Kate Beckett, or attempting to _obtain_ a date with Kate Beckett, he mentally amends before he gets too cocky, is coming at one hell of a price. If he's ever in a position to meet Kate Beckett's parents, should he ever get that lucky, Hardass Halliday will most likely have handed them a dossier a couple of inches thick before he even pulls to a stop in their driveway.

So he's nervous, on edge, feeling the pressure for once in his life, since this matters, matters more than he can really figure out why. And that's before you get to Gina.

Gina's mad at him because he ditched her at the curb after calling her at stupid o'clock to come pick him up from a cell, or the next best thing. Bumping their morning meeting with marketing to boot? Well, that might not have been his smartest move. But then as far as Castle's concerned marketing is total BS. In fact, on this one point, Castle's firmly in agreement with Edwin Land, co-founder of Polaroid, who once said: _"Marketing is what you do when your product is no good."_ Yes, Castle is firmly in that camp. He believes that good writing, a compelling story and a handsome, charismatic author should be more than enough firepower to sell books. Gina, Paula and Barry "The Marketing Guru" think differently however: dragging in an endless procession of ad agencies to make pitch after pitch strategizing a campaign for each new product launch…blah, blah, blah…

No, Castle's world is much simpler – he saw Kate Beckett out on the street looking as if she'd decided to come after him. He saw Kate Beckett seconds _after_ Gina kissed him on the cheek, he saw her face fall, then he saw her coffee cup sail through the air, hit the edge of the trashcan and bounce inside - slam dunk! - even as she stormed back inside the precinct, Glock on her hip, ass as firm and round as a ripe clementine. Now _that_ is a woman he needs to get to know.

* * *

Standing outside the Twelfth, as he is right now, makes him feel more alive than he has in a long time. It's shift changeover, a strange time of day, since the noise all around him is a mix of those happy to be going home with all limbs intact, tired but satisfied after an uneventful tour or exhausted and disheartened by a seemingly pointless pile of paperwork - paperwork completed in triplicate for the higher-ups to file in folders and then stick in drawers to be forgotten forever more unless unforeseen circumstances should warrant they be pulled for a second look. It's worker bee hive activity – mindless but essential, most of it.

But overall, these people seem glad, these men and women, he thinks, watching the backslapping and fist bumping and the occasional high five for a job well done. It's kind of hypnotic in a strange way, and it's kind of enviable too – this easy camaraderie between equals, buddies, partners, and coworkers. It's the kind of friendship Castle has never known, nor is likely to know. The kind of friends who'd take a bullet or a beating for one another if push came to shove, and if not, then a paycheck will suffice in the meantime.

_Good job! Go home. See your kids. Kiss the wife._

It's a life well lived, the kind of thing he longs for. Someday, not too far off, when he meets the right someone.

Yes, he longs for it all, and he might even trade given half a chance. Because writing is a lonely pursuit and he is a sociable man. So he might think to trade the SoHo loft with its high ceilings and spacious floorplan, its gourmet kitchen, custom built closets, the hardwood floors and marble tile, the art on the walls and the _"objets"_ his decorator sourced on his behalf to make the place look "stylish but lived in". He could forgo the huge TV, the surround sound, the steam shower and 1000 thread count cotton percale sheets that sooth his skin at night but leave his dreams no less tortured for their luxurious comfort and exorbitant price tag.

He's the man who has everything, and that everything includes a dark, cavernous sinkhole where his heart should be.

He wants…_what?_ Something more than he already has, and he's not a hundred percent on what that even is yet. This fact makes him both vulnerable and a real jerk-off at the exact same time. So he needs this to go well. Boy does he ever. Because he's starting to think that what he needs is _her._

* * *

He's freshly shaved, on Halliday's instruction, having not shaved for days before now. At the last minute he remembers to peel the raggedly torn, quarter inch piece of the New York Times' Book Review section off his jawline, stuck where he nicked his skin an hour ago and couldn't get the bleeding to stop. He showered, he perfumed and powered, he snipped and combed and spritzed and sprayed. He even trimmed his nails again, feeling like a new recruit aiming to pass muster. He put on a suit, a shirt and tie, then he looked at himself in the full-length mirror and he laughed at himself. Half bridegroom, half court appointed lawyer - he looked nothing like he wanted to. So he lost the tie, ditched the suit and he threw on a pair of black jeans with his open neck shirt, feeling more like his old self than he had in a long time once he was done.

Sergeant Halliday's instructions we crystal clear and delivered without room for compromise: "Be outside at 6.30pm. Not a minute later. I'll take care of the rest. And for God's sake, Mr. Castle, take a shower," she had thrown his way at the very last minute, following it up with one heck of a wink.

He had listened, in a manner of speaking. So now it's 6.15pm, and he's been here for quarter of an hour already – hence his issue with looking like some loitering creep. He had some flowers in his hand, a signed and dedicated copy of his latest book tucked under his arm, but then he ditched the lot at the last minute, judging it too try-hard when he hadn't even got her agreement to go out for so much as a beer at this point, let alone be sure she'd give him the time of day. The flowers and the book are lying discarded on his kitchen counter at home. He can picture them right now – pale pink peonies with fulsome petals like ballerina tutus exploding out of each frilly bloom. Now that he's without them, without their defense and allure – because who could reject a man with a bouquet of pink peonies, and in March no less! – he feels naked, unworthy, less interesting, maybe even unloveable.

Women expect things from men like Richard Castle, or at least the women he's been dating lately seem to. He discovered this pretty quickly, and to his great cost, as soon as he achieved a modicum of public profile after his first real literary success. These women expect gifts, lots of them, the more expensive the better; they expect dinners in fancy restaurants; Champagne cocktails at the latest, hottest bar; trips on jets and visits to his house in the Hamptons tend to seal the deal where no-strings company is concerned. A modest bouquet of peonies and a copy of his latest novel seem paltry by comparison, and yet somehow he thinks these are the most Kate Beckett would ever expect from him, let alone accept. He senses already that there's something different about her, something real, and it's for that reason he's so desperate to get close to her.

* * *

And then all of a sudden she's there, right in front of him without preamble, like some magical trick of the light. He missed her big entrance back into the world – he had planned to watch her come down the precinct steps. He'd taken bets with himself – would she walk or would she run? And now she's here and she's…_not happy!_

"What are you doing here, Mr. Castle?" she asks, bypassing him as she does so, like a speaking, moving target.

Castle scrambles to catch up with her. "Did…did Cathy not get a chance to speak to you?" he stutters, performing a kind of sideways scissors-style, crab-like walk so that he can talk to her while attempting to match her startling pace.

"Cathy?" she mocks, her eyebrows shooting up. "Oh, she talked to me alright. What did you do to her? Did you drug her? Maybe bribe her?" she asks, throwing a furious glance in his direction.

Castle rues the day he thought it was a dumb idea to bring the damned flowers along for this.

"No, of course I didn't _drug_ her," he snorts derisively.

Kate takes the sound effects the wrong way, slamming to a halt and catching him unawares, so that he drifts on past for a good few sidesteps. Like a train that has missed the station, he has to back up to listen to her berate him some more, which is kind of embarrassing.

"Because a player like you would never have to trick a woman to get what he wanted, right?"

"I would _never—_" he begins indignantly, before being cut dead.

"Oh, save it for the judge," snaps Kate, taking off again at high speed down the sidewalk, leaving Castle floundering in a shallow puddle of his own indignation.

This is all wrong. It's going so badly wrong he doesn't even know what to do to salvage it or if he should even try.

He takes his last deep breath, thinks, "Here goes nothing" and lets rip loud enough for her to hear.

"She's my editor, okay? Not my girlfriend or my wife. _My editor!_" he yells after Kate Beckett, figuring if she ignores him now, while burly cops stare and point and snigger at him in the middle of the street, then maybe it wasn't meant to be.

He's done all he can, tried his hardest, lost his dignity, even taken his mother's advice for once – something about wearing your heart on your sleeve and always packing clean underwear, the specifics of which escape him right now at this moment of extreme stress and public humiliation. He doesn't even know this girl at all, he's acting on a damned hunch that she's special and different and, well a blind man could see how pretty she is, but that's beside the point…almost.

When the whistling and catcalling from passing cops has subsided, and he finally dares to look up again, she's standing in front of him, barely three feet away. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is a tiny bit wild, and she's twisting her denim jacket in her hands like she's maybe a little uncomfortable with what just went down between them in the middle of the street. Before she opens her mouth to destroy his last shred of hope, he's going to call this a win and get out with all his limbs intact.

But then Kate gives him what he'd probably describe as a brave smile, and suddenly he can't seem to help himself, he opens his mouth to speak once more and all but ruins things all over again.

"You're wearing lipstick. Sorry, couldn't help but notice," he says, shrugging his shoulders a fraction. "Should I be honored?" he asks, referring back to her assertion just this morning that she doesn't wear lipstick..._ever!_

If it's possible for a whole city block in the center of Manhattan at rush hour to feel as if it just had all the air, all the noise, in fact let's just call it the entire atmosphere, sucked right out of it, so that only a void of you and her and the dumb thing you just said are left hanging there while you stare at one another; if that's possible, then that's what happened next.

But then there is this ripple, this nudge from the Universe, like a jolt from a defibrillator, and the world begins turning again.

"Wanna go...get a beer?" she asks, scuffing the ground with her boot. "I know a place a few blocks down. It's nothing fancy but—"

Lead me to your master, thinks Castle, wisely neglecting to verbalize this time. What he does manage to do is nod and then smile, before finally saying, "That'd be great," with all the normality and sincerity he can muster.

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7 - The Date

_A/N: HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! You get a Caskett date as your gift from me. xxx_

* * *

_**Chapter 7 – The Date**_

_Previously..._

_"You're wearing lipstick. Sorry, couldn't help but notice," he says, shrugging his shoulders a fraction. "Should I be honored?" he asks, referring back to her assertion just this morning that she doesn't wear lipstick...ever!_

_If it's possible for a whole city block in the center of Manhattan at rush hour to feel as if it just had all the air, all the noise, in fact let's just call it the entire atmosphere, sucked right out of it, so that only a void of you and her and the dumb thing you just said are left hanging there while you stare at one another; if that's possible, then that's what happened next._

_But then there is this ripple, this nudge from the Universe, like a jolt from a defibrillator, and the world begins turning again._

_"Wanna go...get a beer?" she asks, scuffing the ground with her boot. "I know a place a few blocks down. It's nothing fancy but—"_

_Lead me to your master, thinks Castle, wisely neglecting to verbalize this time. What he does manage to do is nod and then smile, before finally saying, "That'd be great," with all the normality and sincerity he can muster._

* * *

They head off down the street together, leaving the Twelfth Precinct behind, and Castle could swear that he's walking on air, actual clouds of pink, downy, cottony-soft air. He risks a sideways glance at Kate just a handful of steps in, and finds her looking straight ahead, a tension to her jaw that he wants to soothe away.

With kisses.

It's an urge he doesn't quite understand this early on. He just met this woman a handful of hours ago, and yet beyond the empirical evidence before him – that she is undeniably attractive – there's something more, some feeling in his gut that's telling him to take care, to pay attention, tread lightly and for God sake keep your mouth under control for once. He hopes he's able to heed that voice because he's already starting to like Kate Beckett, and women like her, women of genuine substance, are as rare as unicorns in Richard Castle's slightly bizarre corner of the world.

They cross at the next set of lights and walk a few yards further on before he hazards a second glimpse in her direction, only to find her checking on him at the exact same moment. They smile at one another, awkwardly, and Castle has to fight down the disturbing urge to giggle, which is ridiculous, since he's a grown man getting exactly what he wanted, though he knows for certain that this is no sure thing.

They're walking a knife edge. Or at least he is. He's behaved like an ass pretty much since he met her, and yet here she is throwing him a bone: a couple of beers in some low-key joint she knows. Because that's all this is, he has to remind himself before he gets too carried away. There's still a hell of a lot of work to be done to redeem himself in the eyes of Kate Beckett for tonight to last any longer that a few sips of Peroni and the couple of minutes it'll take for her to peel the label off her own bottle of beer. Because he's pretty sure she's the kind of girl who can't resist peeling the label off a beer bottle. Throw in the fact that he's a near stranger and she'll be shredding beer mats before the hour is up, cop or not.

Heck she might just be doing her Sarge a favor going out with him at all. Maybe she's scared of saying no to Cathy Hardass Halliday. He knows he'd be scared to refuse the woman and his future career doesn't rely on staying in the woman's good graces.

"You're a loud thinker."

Castle imagines he heard these words inside his own head, and so mentally he moves to rebut the statement. But then Kate adds, "Penny for them?" and he realizes that _she_ was the one doing the talking all along. And he just ignored her! Way to go, Rick.

He's so startled that he steps slightly off course, bumping shoulders with her, finding himself having to reach out a hand to steady her by the elbow. Like some giant, drunken oaf who'd fail a field sobriety test in broad daylight, he needs to pull it together, fast. Hearing voices in your head when you're out with the woman who arrested you on a drunken disorderly - with aggravating circumstances that included a police horse and full frontal nudity - just the night before is probably the fastest route to Bellevue, and the quickest way to ensure that there will be no second date.

"Sorry. I was miles away. Not thinking anything interesting. Honest. In fact, you'd be _amazed_ at how inane my brain can be," he blurts, talking at a million miles an hour. "And I mean _a lot_ of the time…"

Exhibit A, you moron! Shut up! Stop talking!

"I'd probably call that statement _"Exhibit A"_," chuckles Kate, and his heart skips a beat.

Can she really see inside his head or hear his stupid, crazy thoughts as he thinks them? He risks looking over at her again, but there are no clues in her beautiful brown eyes, just the dark curl of her lashes casting crisscross shadows on her cheeks as they raise and lower like butterfly wings. Jeez! Given half a chance this woman could turn him into a freaking poet, and don't he know it!

Dork!

Before he can summon the words to prove to this gorgeous, fresh-faced creature that he isn't a complete goofball, that he does in fact have a real, functioning brain that is actually capable of coming up with some pretty lucid, inventive stuff (stuff a lot of people are willing to pay good money for) Kate says, "Bar's just over there," nodding in the direction of a basic-looking hole in the wall across the street.

Castle scans the nondescript entrance, the shabby door with peeling brown paint that you'd miss if you didn't know it existed, the steel shutter rolled only halfway up so that the blinking _Bud Lite_ neon in the window is more of a guess than a certainty. And for all that it's more speakeasy than chi chi cocktail lounge, he feels a sudden rush of excitement course through his veins. Because it's real, just like her, and that makes it perfect.

* * *

They're crossing the street when they're almost run over by a rickshaw cyclist who comes out of nowhere. This twenty-something speed freak, wearing cammo shorts, a _Bart Simpson_ T-shirt that says "Haters Gonna Hate" and a _One Direction_ ball cap turned ass-backwards, cuts right in front of them, riding the wrong way up a one-way street.

"Hey, you…One Direction? Try _wrong direction_!" yells Kate, jabbing her finger at the nearest street sign to back up her point.

The cyclist simply rings his bell, yells back, _"Fuck you, lady!"_ and gives Kate the finger over his shoulder once he's a safe distance on by.

"The little…he just flipped you the bird," says Castle, staring after the guy with rank indignation, as if he's contemplating running to catch up with him and then taking him to task.

"Whoa, slow down there, John Wayne," says Kate, taking hold of Castle's arm to stop him. "Let him go."

"But he just—"

"And I hear worse from some of my own squad everyday. You're sweet to want to go after him, but I don't need protecting. And I sure as hell don't want to have to explain to Sergeant Halliday how you ended up in more trouble while you were out with me tonight."

Castle likes how that sounds, so he lets it drop since she did just call him sweet. Also, the punk on the pedicab is now a good block and a half further on, and no way is he chasing after a rickshaw in these shoes.

They're nearly outside the dive Kate's brought him to, he realizes with a shiver of excitement. There's a tough looking, muscular guy standing outside smoking. He's wearing a t-shirt one size too small, no doubt designed to show of his hard-won musculature, while military tattoos decorate the inside of each forearm. There's a distinctive bulge around the hem of one pant leg that Castle imagines could be a piece…or maybe an electronic ankle monitor. The writer studies the guy until he's caught staring and is forced to look away. With a creeping realization that fizzes in his brain he wonders if this is a cop bar, if she's _actually_ taking him for a beer to a bona fide cop bar!

"It's not a cop bar," says Kate, smothering that little theory before it can even take a breath, and without so much as a glance in his direction.

Freakier and freakier!

"Don't like to mix business with—" She shrugs without finishing the sentence, though they both know how it should end. In pleasure.

* * *

When Castle opens the bar's creaky old door for her, he makes a point of saying "My _pleasure_," loud enough for her to hear when she thanks him for his courtesy.

If Kate notices the pointed word usage, she chooses to ignore it in favor of striding up to the bar and shaking hands with some skinny, bush-bearded beatnik of a guy wearing suspenders and a red bowtie over a narrow-collared shirt and black barkeep's apron. He's the kind of trendy white dude certain parts of Brooklyn have been churning out for the last few years. There's so many of them now that they're ubiquitous in a certain strata of bar, restaurant, coffee shop and in many boutique men's stores all over town, almost as if there's a secret factory devoted to "bearded beatnik production" hidden up an alley in some forgotten section of Greenpoint or Red Hook.

Castle's busy mulling this phenomenon over when he has another more pressing, nay depressing, thought. Oh, God, please don't let this be her boyfriend, he begs the big man upstairs, momentarily closing his eyes. Because Kate Beckett going out with a guy who owns a beard trimmer, let along beard balm and maybe even beard shampoo, would be a cruelty too far.

"What'll it be, Mr. Castle?" asks Kate, rapping her knuckles on the scarred wooden bar top while she scans the gantry for herself.

Her question yanks Castle out of his "chin sweater as boyfriend material" tailspin and boomerangs him face first into yet another. The formal epithet – Mister Castle - makes it sound as if this young woman is out at a bar with a superior from work or a friend of her dad's…maybe even her accountant.

"Kate, please, it's Rick," he rushes to correct. "And I'll have a whisky, maestro," he says, pointing the barman in the direction of a dusty bottle of Glenmorangie lurking on the top shelf. "And these are on me," he tells the skinny guy, idly pulling his wallet out of his rear pants' pocket, and laying a twenty on the counter.

"I'm sorry. Curse of the job. And you're older than—"

Kate bites her lip and he watches her cheeks slowly flood with color.

"Older than…_what?_ Than this whisky?" he teases, pointing to the 10 year old single malt.

"I would hope so," Kate replies, giving him an amused look. "No, I mean older than I…"

"Expected? Wanted? Am I getting warm?"

Kate sure looks like _she's_ getting warm, if the glow in her cheeks is any measure. "Look, let's not pretend that this is anything more than—"

"Whoa. Whoa. Wait up now," Castle says, holding up both hands in front of him. "More than _what?_" he asks, keen to get a little clarification.

Kate has the good grace to look guilty. She studies the floor with sudden keen interest before sliding her gaze up Castle's legs and torso to finally meet his face. "More than it really is," she says quietly.

"Which is what exactly? Come on. Enlighten me."

"Sarge said…"

At these two words, Castle turns and begins walking back towards the bar's front entrance, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he goes. "I should have known. Stupid, stupid…" he curses under his breath.

The fact that he engineered this meeting escapes him at this moment. He's too disappointed to be rational about his own part in this concocted date. He wanted her to like him for her own reasons, not because her boss lady ordered her to take him out for a pity drink just to get rid of him.

"Sir, your drink," calls the barman, holding his sturdy glass of single malt aloft.

Kate's heart sinks. The writer looks genuinely disappointed. He practically prostrated himself in front of her before all those cops outside the precinct, he cleared up the confusion over the woman she saw in the car this morning, he spent _God knows_ how long turning Sergeant Halliday into his cheering squad, and he is her favorite author after all. She'd be dumb not to take this chance to have a one-on-one with him; a kind of private interview, access all areas if she plays her cards right. Add to that the fact that he is pretty easy on the eye, great body with or without clothes, excellent personal hygiene now that he's been home for a shower and a brush up, and he's funny, which is definitely something you don't find everyday. That's before you get to the tricky matter of what to tell Halliday if she doesn't at least give him a hearing.

* * *

"Watch these for me," she tells the young guy behind the bar, before hurrying to catch up with Castle.

She reaches him just as he stretches out his hand to wrap it around the old brass knob. But with her foot pressed against the bottom of the door, there's no escape. The door won't open no matter how hard Castle tugs. He's trapped.

Kate clears her throat with a dry, nervous little cough, and then she gently touches his arm. "This is just lipgloss by the way. Not lipstick. Thought I should clear that up. Wouldn't want to get off on the wrong foot or anything," she adds, before letting slip a nervous grin. "Acting under false pretences."

Castle turns to examine her face, giving her an uncertain look at first. But the hopeful smile he receives in return begins to restore him pretty speedily. Most of all because he wants to believe that there might be something there between them, no matter how nascent; some frisson or connection that he hopes he isn't imagining and that he hopes she maybe feels too. So he'll take any olive branch that's offered, since he's pretty much desperate for this to go well.

"That's pretty funny," he admits, nodding. "_You're_ pretty funny," he adds, giving her a nudge when she begins to grin even wider at her own silly piece of trivia. "Matter of fact, _I_ seem to have done enough getting off on the wrong foot for both of us, so…"

Kate just smiles shyly, and then looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry. About just then," she tells him, tilting her head back towards the bar. "Sarge kind of strong-armed me into this, if I'm being completely honest."

"I figured," nods Castle, waiting to see if she'll say anything else.

"Yeah, so…" she mumbles, staring at the floor and then right into his eyes, startling him with her courage and honesty.

"Does she do that often?" he asks, sensing a lot riding on the answer. "Interfere in your private life, I mean?"

"If she thinks something is good for you? Dog with a bone," admits Kate, tucking a short strand of hair behind her ear.

"Bit of a mama bear on the quiet, is she?" asks Castle, quite prepared to believe that she is. Even he could see that the woman has a heart, hidden below several layers of fierce bluster though it may be.

"Wouldn't let her hear you using that description. But yeah, she's…she's more caring than you might think."

"I definitely got that impression. If she'd go to bat for me after everything…"

Kate smiles. "Yeah, you really won her round. And I don't always know what's good for me…a_pparently_, so…" She trails off to give him a sympathetic smile. "Sergeant Halliday collects waifs and strays like normal people collect baseball cards. She's…yeah."

The door suddenly jolts in on them and they both have to take a quick step back to avoid being hit in the face by the old peeling relic when a new patron enters the bar.

"Shall we?" asks Kate, suggesting a return to their drinks with the sweep of her arm. "Seems a shame not to now we're both here."

"Guess I could stick around for one," replies Castle, trying to recover his pride, while fooling absolutely no one with this new Mister Cool routine. "_If_ you're twisting my arm."

Kate gives him the sweetest smile and then she leads the way back to their waiting drinks with a murmur of, "Just wait until I cuff you, then you'll know all about twisted arms."

* * *

They clink glasses, toasting nothing in particular, and things get a little awkward once more while they figure out how to shift gears on this unplanned, slightly forced event.

"What color?" asks Castle, lifting his glass in Kate's general direction.

"Hmm? I'm sorry?" questions Kate, offering him a wide-eye look of puzzlement.

"Your lipgloss. What color is it?"

Kate grins. "Oh! Uh…_clear_, I guess."

Castle frowns. "Then what's the point? If it's clear, I mean."

Kate shrugs, and then she flushes with embarrassment. "You know what, I have no idea. It's stupid," she mutters, lifting her arm to rub the gloss off on the back of her hand.

The lipgloss was all Halliday's idea. And why Kate decided to take makeup advice from a woman who wears orthopedic shoes and men's tube socks all day everyday, she has no earthly idea. But with the words "And Beckett, a little lipstick wouldn't hurt just this once. Remember the guy's a millionaire if it pains you to try," ringing in her ears as she came off shift and went to the locker room to change into street clothes, with those words ringing in her ears, what choice did she have.

"Wait! No, don't do that," Castle protests, gently catching her by the wrist before she manages to destroy what little makeup she has on.

Kate's gaze drops instantly to study his large hand, eyes landing on his thick fingers where they're wrapped around her pale, slender wrist, dwarfing her radius and ulna as if they are mere pencil-thick. Her pulse thuds beneath his thumb and she observes Castle's eyelashes flicker with recognition the second he senses the tender, throbbing vein beating beneath the pad of his skin. And then he looks at her. Pupils dilating, their eyes snap together as dark as magnets. She feels her heart sink when he quickly lets her go of her arm, perhaps misconstruing her own unguarded, far too open, facial expression. He's being careful she senses, desperate not to overstep or push in anyway. She has herself to blame for that: for his tentative behavior and the annexation of his exuberant personality, which she suspects he's keeping on a leash tonight.

"Why not? I thought you said it was pointless," she reminds him.

"You look…and please don't break my arm or shoot me for saying this. I'm not trying to be a creep, I swear," he insists, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace and openness.

She tilts her head to one side and narrows her eyes, almost challenging him. "Just say it."

"You didn't promise."

Kate sighs a happy, loose sigh. "I promise," she says, crossing her heart, even if the ridiculous gesture makes her feel about twelve years old again.

"It makes you look pretty…or well, even prettier," he shrugs, scuffing the rough wooden boards at their feet with his fancy, (slightly out of place) Italian loafer.

* * *

They're at the bottom of their glasses before they know it, and Kate signals the barman, whose name turns out to be William, for another round. Castle makes no comment, just goes with the flow lest he make her uncomfortable - or come to her senses - now that they're sailing past their one drink agreement and they're both still here, hinting that things must be going well. Or at the very least better.

Kate switches from beer to a glass of what Castle's having, and the move to hard liquor surprises him. She's so slight – willowy tall and slender - and the paternal side of his nature has him wondering what she ate on shift today, how empty her system must be of food by now, and gauging how quickly the single malt might make her tipsy. Add in the fact that Sergeant Halliday is hovering over tonight's proceedings like a specter, with the threat that she will ruin him in ways the Mayor will be incapable of recuing him from, and he plans on doing the sensible thing: making sure Kate takes it easy, maybe gets a bite to eat before much longer, and sees her home safely if she'll allow.

"Just out of interest. How _did_ you know about sexing horses?" she asks out of the blue, jerking him back to the previous night's shenanigans in the park.

Castle blinks a couple of times before answering. "Uh…I worked on a farm for three months when I was seventeen."

"Farm boy, huh?" she grins, looking unexpectedly pleased.

"That got you interested," he chuckles, admiring the healthy glint in her eye that speaks to latent fantasies about tan chests with hard, naked pecs and muscled arms as strong as farm machinery, maybe even a sweaty roll in a hayloft.

Kate blushes. "Shut up," she warns him, treating the floor to a bashful smile.

When she looks up at him again, there's something more serious, less playful about her expression.

"Was it really a bet?" she asks, once again referring back to the night before. "We didn't find anyone hanging around the crowd who would admit to knowing you? Everyone we spoke to said you were alone when you stripped naked and got on that horse."

Castle downs the rest of his drink in one. He clears the fire in his throat with a gravelly cough, fighting back the sudden sting of salt water flooding his eyes for a second before answering. "My…my divorce came through a couple of months ago."

"_Oh._"

Kate looks uncomfortable and maybe even a little disappointed, he's pleased to see.

"No, it's not what you think," he rushes to reassure her, lest she imagine this is some rebound deal for him. "It's been over for a long time. I'm relieved, tell you the truth."

"So then why the mental breakdown in Central Park?"

Castle blinks hard, eyes widening in amazement before he laughs, loudly. "Wow! You don't pull any punches, do you?" But he grabs one of Kate's outstretched hands when she makes to protest or apologize for her frankness, covering her fingers with his own for a fleeting second and giving them a reassuring squeeze. The gesture is entirely natural but it still catches them both by surprise, as so much is surprising them tonight. "No, I'm impressed. I'm used to people telling me what they think I want to hear. You're…you're refreshing Kate Beckett."

"Or just fresh," she suggests, giving him a self-depreciating smile.

"That's cute. That's _very_ cute," notes Castle, enjoying the verbal swordplay they're managing to engage in now and then, in between the awkward parts.

She's smart as a whip, and that is something he finds incredibly sexy. In fact, it's something he's not that used to finding in most of the women he's spent time with. They want you to sign their chests or for you to buy them dinner at the hippest restaurant in town… Well, he guesses he deserves all he's got, until now. Poor choices bring their own just rewards.

"So, my mental breakdown, as you called it…"

"Look, you don't have to," protests Kate, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.

They both stare at her hand for a second or two before she withdraws it, a definite frisson of something passing between them in that moment.

"You had to arrest me or "save my sorry ass", as I'd like to think of it from now on. You have a right to know."

"If you're sure. We don't always learn the why of every case we come across or every arrest we make."

"Doesn't that get frustrating?" asks Castle, story-seeker as much as he is storyteller, before he shakes his head dismissively, brushing the query off. "Anyway, I promised you an explanation." He takes a deep breath. "My kid is on her first unsupervised visit with her mom in over a year."

"You…you have a child?" She sounds shocked, and looks so many other things he can't quite put his finger on right now.

Castle isn't used to sharing this information on first dates, if that's what this even is, but something about Kate, and maybe it's just the fact that she's a cop, but something about her makes him feel that he ought to share this private part of his life with her.

"A daughter, yes. Alexis. She's six years old."

"And…you have a problem with her spending time alone with her mother?"

Castle nods. "Meredith is…she's irresponsible. As a parent."

Kate chokes on a laugh as soon as he stops speaking. "_She's_ irresponsible? Compared to whom? _You?_"

Castle takes her incredulity, and the implied criticism in her question, on the chin. "Believe it or not, I look like Clair Huxtable, in the parenting department, compared to Meredith."

"So your answer to feeling anxious about your child's wellbeing involved getting drunk in Central Park…_at night_," stresses Kate, "before mounting a police horse you just _happened_ to find randomly wandering around?"

Castle grins sheepishly. "Pretty much."

"Oh, and I almost forgot the part where you were naked," she adds, cheeks flushing, thinking, no way did I forget that part, but he doesn't need to know that yet.

Castle gives her a very direct look, boldly pinning her with his dark blue eyes. "You…you _forgot_ that I was naked, Officer Beckett? _Really?_" His smirk says it all.

"I was concentrating on the horse, maintaining public safety on scene, as you well know. I had no time to…to _observe_ anything else."

"_Right_," nods Castle, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "I thought training standards at the Academy were better than that. Don't you guys have 360 degree vision at all times?"

"Stop it," laughs Kate, flicking him with a bar towel William left lying around.

* * *

The temperature in the room seems to have risen a notch or two by the time they've both stopped laughing. Castle feels renewed, reborn, by just an hour of this girl's time. Sixty minutes in her company and the effects are better than any illicit drug he's ever tried, far better than the Zanax and the Zoloft, the Ambien and the bloody Valium he has rattling around in the back of his medicine cabinet at home. The buzz he gets from being round her is far superior to any good bottle of Scotch, no matter the proof or how well aged. She's a revelation.

"I'm really glad you agreed to do this tonight," he says, slightly dousing the light moment in a heavier layer of sincerity.

But if he was worried about Kate, there appears to be no need.

"I'm glad too. You're a lot of fun for—" Her eyes widen when she fails to finish her sentence, capturing whatever word she was about to use at the very last second.

"Think very carefully about what you say next," warns Castle playfully, suddenly appearing to tower over her.

"You're a lot of fun for a rich guy," she winces, realizing how bad that sounds.

"Rich guy, huh? Okay, I think I can live with that."

"Why, what did you think I was going to say?"

"Oh, I don't know. So many insults, so little time."

"Tell me?" begs Kate, playfully tugging on the lapel of his jacket.

It's at this point that Castle realizes she's starting to get a little loose, that the whisky is beginning to hit the spot, her eyes a little shinier than before, her grin a little wider, gestures more touchy-feely. They're also standing much closer together, almost toe-to-toe in a half-empty bar.

"Go on. Tell me," she begs him again, waving at William for another round of drinks before Castle can intervene.

"Eh…I don't know. _Old_, maybe?"

Kate tips her head to one side to study his face, and he feels the sensation physically as she caresses the contours of his brow, his temples, the sweep of his nose, cheeks and jaw with her smoky, hazel eyes. "You're what…like 31, 32?"

"I'm thirty actually. Hard night last night," he quips, just to see her smile.

"Yeah, so that's not old. Old is my dad's age."

"How old is your dad?"

"Forty-five."

Castle nearly spits out his drink. "How old are _you_? If that's not too impertinent a question to ask a lady."

"Lady," laughs Kate, shaking her head before taking another large mouthful of her own drink and then slamming her empty glass onto the bar. "Long time since I've been called that. I'm twenty-three."

Castle feels his heart sink. He's not sure what age he thought she was, but her comment from earlier about this being nothing more than…_whatever _suddenly begins to make sense. She thinks he's too old for her, and with a kid and an ex-wife to boot. Well, he doesn't really blame her.

"Don't look so sad, Ricky," Kate surprises him by saying. "Older men are cool."

Oh, jeez. Please don't let her be drunk, he thinks, scrabbling around to find a new subject to focus on. He comes up pretty blank, since all his brain has time for is Kate Beckett's sweet, smiling face.

"That scratchy wool blanket…the one from the trunk of your car. You use it a lot? I mean, is there much call for covering naked guys in your line of work?"

And this is the best his brain can come up with it? WTF! Yeah, let's get the tipsy young cop, whose main protector at work could rip your head off with her bare hands and feed it to that damn horse you stole, let's get her to think about your naked ass some more. Not obvious at all!

"No. No, you're my first," replies Kate, humor and a little boldness of her own lighting up her face.

Castle swallows slowly, debating with himself how far to push things, how much to flirt, whether or not to take the opening she's given him and run right through it. Good versus evil, his inner demons face off against one another.

His bad side wins.

"Your first? Mm, in that case I'm honored," nods Castle, unable to suppress the smile that's wrecking havoc with the corners of his mouth.

"Yep, until last night I was a naked writer virgin," she declares proudly, and a little too loudly, if the looks they're getting from the two girls further down the bar are anything to go by.

"You feel like getting something to eat?" he asks, allowing the good side of his brain to have some input for a second.

Kate looks down at the expensive, large-faced timepiece on her wrist that could almost be a man's watch. "Actually, I should really get going. Got a shift first thing."

"Right," nods Castle, disappointment crushing his chest so fast that he's left feeling winded.

"Hey," Kate murmurs quietly to get his attention.

"Mm?" mumbles Castle, forcing himself to look at her without disclosing his distress. Or so he believes.

"Don't look so crushed. You'll make me feel bad."

Castle forces himself to brighten, reassembling an awkward smile. "Well, I wouldn't want to do that. I had a nice time is all. But I understand if you've got to go."

"Share a cab?" Kate suggests impulsively.

"You don't even know where I live."

"Actually, I do. Small matter of your arrest report took care of that. I'm not stalking you or anything," she adds quickly.

"I'd be more flattered if you were."

Kate laughs loudly at this remark. "You're crazy."

"I like you," Castle tells her boldly.

"As a potential stalker?" Kate giggles, sobering the longer she absorbs the sincerity she can see in his face. "Sorry. And thank you. I like you too."

They stand looking at one another until Castle clears his throat, denying himself the chance to take advantage of the moment. "Shall we get that cab? I'll just settle up here."

"Oh, no. Please, let me," Kate offers, scrabbling in her pocket for her wallet.

"No, I insist. After the trouble I've caused you the last twelve hours, tonight's on me."

"You sure?"

"One hundred percent."

* * *

Kate manages to hail a cab almost the second they hit the sidewalk. That never happens, and Castle mentally curses the Gods who'd provide this kind of transportation manna in New York City on the one evening he'd rather linger by the curb with his date a little longer.

They sit like strangers in the back of the cab, the requisite foot or more of grey pleather stretching between them like an unassailable gulf. Kate stares out of the window at the moving scenery on her side of the cab, seemingly lost in thought, while Castle watches Kate, intending to employ a kind of hair-trigger ability to turn away the second she might be on the cusp of rumbling him.

They pull up outside Castle's loft first, and it's with a sinking heart that he realizes two things: that tonight is over and he won't get to see where Kate Beckett lives. Who's the potential stalker now?

Castle tackles their goodbye with a bravado he doesn't actually feel. "Well, Officer Beckett, I had a really great time tonight. Who'd have thought getting arrested could end up being so much fun. You guys should run a campaign or something."

"What? Like date your arresting officer? No, there are quite enough badge bunnies around as it is, thank you very much. Think I'll pass on being the poster child for that particular campaign."

Castle makes a vain attempt at mock-horror, comically clutching at his chest. "But then what will Sergeant Halliday do with her free time?"

Kate grins, ducking her head so that her short bangs tumble jaggedly over her pale forehead. "Actually, I kind of dread to think. I'm hoping she's off tomorrow when I go in."

"Autopsy?"

"Oh, don't. The woman is _the_ biggest gossip at the Twelfth after Sergeant Bradford."

"I thought Bill and I made a connection last night," says Castle, with a cheesy grin.

Kate eyes him coolly. "Is there anyone you don't connect with?"

Castle boldly eyeballs her back. "I don't know. Is there?"

"Rick…" she says reluctantly, when he reaches out to tuck a spiky strand of hair back behind her ear.

The writer withdraws his hand in a hurry, stuffing the offending appendage into his pocket. "I'm sorry. You…you made things clear right from the start. I'm sorry. I should go," he says, finally grasping the handle that will open the cab door.

Kate looks a little sad when she tells him, "My life is complicated. My— Anyway, I had a really good time tonight."

"You did?" He seems genuinely surprised.

"Yes, I really did," she nods, on seeing that he needs convincing.

"Thank you. For…for everything. Really, I mean that."

"I didn't actually _do_ anything."

"No, you did a lot. More than you'll ever know," the writer tells her, soaking up a last long look at her face.

* * *

The cabbie interrupts them, turning round to throw some impatient, unintelligible, hurry-it-along over his shoulder.

Kate takes the hint first. "Goodnight, Mr. Castle," she says, offering him her hand to shake.

"Goodnight, Officer Beckett," mirrors Castle, formally shaking her slender, cool-to-the-touch hand.

"Stay out of trouble, okay?" she warns, though her tone is more one of amusement.

"I'll try. See you around." There's hope and something of a wistful rise in the pitch of this last statement, almost as if he would rather have phrased it as a question.

"Yeah," she says with a reluctant sigh, as Castle slams the cab door closed, before giving her a parting wave through the fog of condensation-smeared glass.

As the cab pulls away, Castle wonders if this is the last he'll ever see of her: an indistinct shape, with a smile he knows would be pretty if he were able to see it, all viewed through the window of a moving taxicab.

As they sail through a junction, bouncing high over a pothole, Kate wishes she knew what he was thinking.

She's only a block from home when she looks down at the seat beside her to see the illuminated screen of a cell phone glowing in the dark. The pixie-like face of a tiny redhead lights up the inside of the cab with her gap-toothed smile.

"Shit," she curses, cradling the phone in her hand, already wondering if he did this on purpose.

_TBC..._


	8. Chapter 8 - The Cell Phone

_A/N: You'll have to forgive me for the couple of time-travelling anomalies that crept into the last chapter: namely Castle's (slightly) smart phone and the mention of One Direction, which some helpful (but anonymous) reader pointed out. This story in set in 2003, when Harry Styles was only nine! Just go with it, I am. :)_

* * *

_**Chapter 8 – The Cell Phone**_

The cab slams to a stop while Kate is still staring at the pale face and large, expressive blue eyes belonging to Richard Castle's six-year-old daughter. She almost loses the slippery cell phone to the thick, ribbed matting on the cab's dusty floor, managing to maintain her grip at the last second. The phone isn't ringing. It just woke up for some reason, revealing the photograph Rick has saved as his wallpaper: his daughter.

He has a daughter.

Kate pays the cab driver with distracted, fumbling haste, stuffing the phone into the pocket of her denim jacket until she can get inside her apartment building and figure out what the hell to do next. If he left his phone in the cab on purpose for her to find, then he's clearly desperate to have some excuse to see her again. Given his recent behaviour, it's not a stretch to believe this could be true. The rather obvious M.O. has his fingerprints all over it. And if he dropped it or laid it on the seat beside him and then forgot it by accident, that makes him careless. Either way, neither option looks good on him.

Kate backtracks a little as she climbs the stairs to her floor, softening her stance. If he left it as a ruse to see her again, it is kind of sweet…but it's also a little desperate. He could just have asked her outright. But then she gets a flash of his face when he reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she pulled away from him. _That_ was him trying to ensure tonight wasn't a one-time thing, and she shut him down with some opaque remark about how her life is complicated before he even got a chance to ask if he could see her again. Well, with this child and an ex-wife he isn't able to trust, it seems his life is pretty darned complicated too, even if it is complex in different ways to hers.

She pulls his phone out of her pocket when she reaches her front door, but the screen is dark. She discovers that it's also locked when she tries to wake it up again. All she gets to see is the pretty, serious face of little Alexis Castle staring back at her with eyes so wide and penetrating, followed by an invitation to type in a pin code she couldn't even begin to guess at. The phone is typical Rick Castle, or what's she's gleaned of him so far. It's high tech, expensive, sleek and black; a complicated boy toy compared to Kate's simple flip phone. She makes a growl of annoyance, attempting to unlock the door to her apartment as fast as she can, suddenly overcome by an urgent need to go to the bathroom that has her dancing on the spot as she jiggles the key in the lock.

She sits on the toilet, just a moment or two later, contemplating her next move. If Alexis is staying with her mother and his phone is an important means of keeping in contact with her, Rick might be frantic imagining that he's lost it. Also, goodness only knows the contacts he might have stored in the memory - the Mayor of New York City for one. In fact, she doesn't even want to think about that, she decides: about the women whose numbers might be listed on there too.

"Dammit," she curses, as she washes her hands and then heads back to her living room. She has no option. If this is a trick, he wins.

* * *

She picks up her landline phone and calls the Precinct. The duty desk sergeant answers on the third ring. "Yeah, uh…hi. This is Officer Beckett, badge number 41319. I need you to look up a phone number for me. It's in a file that I…yeah, Richard Castle. That's Charlie-Adam-Sam-Thomas-Lincoln-Edward. Yeah, the home number would be great."

She waits for a second or two, unzipping her boots while the sergeant gets her the information she's asked for.

"Sarge? Thanks, yeah. Go ahead," she tells him, grabbing a pen and notepad from the counter next to the phone.

She's about to thank the man for his help and hang up when he asks her something else.

"Date?" She freezes. "Uh…yeah, well we went out for a couple of beers," she replies cagily. "How did it go?" she asks, her eyes widening, caught completely off-guard by the question. "Sergeant Halliday did _what?_ She left you a _note_…asking for _what now?_"

When she's answered all of the Sergeant's questions, with as little information as she can get away with, and finally gets to hang up, her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment. Because apparently Hardass Halliday saw fit to leave some kind of BOLO* alert pinned to the damn desk blotter looking for feedback on Beckett's date with Richard Castle should she either call in or show up in person.

She has to take a deep breath before she can even contemplate picking up the phone to call the writer, since he is at the root of this embarrassing mess. She hates people poking around her private life, and until now has managed to keep a pretty low profile around the precinct, maintaining an air of mystery or even dull-disinterest when it comes to what she gets up to in her off-hours. Just one drink with a millionaire author and all of her hard work is shot to hell. Who'd have thought, right?

For a second she contemplates flinging his cell phone down the trash chute, or maybe flushing it down the toilet, tossing it in a dumpster or hurling it like a skimmer out into the Hudson next time she's passing that way. But then she thinks about his little girl: about the wan, trusting little face with the opalescent eyes, and how his concern for her drove him to engage in such risky behavior in the park last night, and with that image in mind she finds she just can't do it. The guy is under her skin already and she just can't do it to him, not with his kid's safety in question.

* * *

He answers on the second ring. "Castle residence. Speak now or forever hold your peace."

Kate hesitates, bemused silence stealing her voice completely. She has no earthly idea what to say to that, and the only good thing to come from this dumbfounding is how her anger dissolves away in the light of such absurdity at not yet eight-thirty at night. It's too early and she's too sober to engage in this the way she might have if they'd stayed at the bar for just a couple more drinks. But she wants to. She wants to engage with him, and it takes her by surprise. He's fun and silly and so unselfconscious he's like a breath of fresh air. But first she needs to find something out. Interrogation 101 – this is her chance to try her budding detective skills out on someone she doesn't have to look at face-to-face.

"Hello. Is anyone there?"

Castle's question from the other end of the phone line snaps her brain to attention, giving it a big enough jolt for her to form an answer…of sorts. "Uh, yes. Yeah. Sorry. It's Beckett. I…I mean, Kate." Silence. Deep breath. "It's Officer Beckett."

"Kate," he replies, repeating her name with such warmth and genuine enthusiasm that she doesn't believe she's ever heard anyone offer it more. "Hi," he adds, smiling through the single syllable, like it's the answer to everything. To _her_ everything anyway. "Miss me already?"

"Sorry to call you so—"

These words are out of her own mouth before she registers the cocky, rather smug question Castle has just asked her. But before she can respond or change tack, he's cutting in with some infuriating reassurance. So the opportunity to refute that she might have been missing him – And what? No! It's been less than an hour since they parted ways – that opportunity passes as the conversation quickly moves on.

"No!" he interrupts. "No, please don't apologize. It's great to hear your voice," he says, sounding genuine and sincere.

She can hear him moving on his end of the line, shifting around as if he's trying to get comfortable, maybe settling in for a long conversation. But before she can explain her reason for calling, he's off again.

"I'm glad you called actually. I had such a great time tonight and I was…I was wondering if maybe you'd consider—"

"Rick, can you just stop for a second?" Kate interjects, actually holding up a hand to stop him. She holds up a hand while she's sitting alone in her own apartment forgetting that he can't even see her, he has her that rattled.

"_Okaaaayyy_."

"You left something in the back of the cab tonight. I was calling to make sure you knew you hadn't lost it and to figure out a way to get it back to you. In fact, why don't I just leave it with the desk sergeant at the Twelfth and you can come pick it up next time you're passing." She rushes the words out as if there's some time limit to the call, as if some hidden clock is counting down and the quarter will drop any second and they'll get cut off before she has a chance to finish. She's speaking as if she's on a pay phone.

"Kate?"

"Mm?"

"A you nervous by any chance?"

He's grinning, enjoying this, she can hear it in his voice. Dammit.

"Nervous?"

"Yes. Do I make you nervous? Because you sound as if—"

"_That's_ what you're worried about? If you make me nervous? You haven't even asked what you left in the cab."

"My cell phone maybe?"

Kate slaps her hand onto her thigh, so hard and loud that she makes it sting. "Ha! So you left it on purpose? I knew it!" she declares triumphantly.

"Actually, no. No, that's where you're wrong," Castle assures her calmly.

"But you knew _instantly_—"

"I realized when I got home that it was missing. Back of the cab, back at the bar, in another jacket, lying on my nightstand maybe…I haven't had the thing for long enough to miss it. So I wasn't sure where I left it. Anyway, is this an interrogation, Officer Beckett? Should I be calling my lawyer?" he teases, and does _nothing_ bother this guy?

Awkward silence follows.

"Was I being that obvious?" Kate asks with some reluctance.

She hears Castle smile at the question. "Just a little," he admits. "But I like your technique. Good balance of nonchalant and stern. And I'm sure no one else would notice. Writing crime fiction for a living…well, you get to recognize certain things…I keep my ear tuned in."

"So…you didn't leave your phone in the back of the cab just to make sure you heard from me again?" she asks, needing an honest answer, though the question sounds more than a little conceited and presumptuous once it's out of her mouth.

"Would you be disappointed if I said no?"

Kate's answering laugh is somewhat scoffing.

"And what if I called it fate? What then?" he asks, with a warm intimacy that sounds entirely too much like he's flirting.

His tone is still teasing, but his voice caresses her ear like velvet, making her shiver. She had something of the same vague thought when she got out of the cab and realized that she would have to call him. But her thinking on the subject was more nebulous than his and certainly not something she was willing to fully acknowledge to herself, let alone verbalize. Fate hasn't dealt her the best hand over recent years, so she isn't about to leave her life in its capricious hands now.

She laughs shakily, trying to brush off the idea of his lost phone being some kind of matchmaker by sidestepping it entirely. "I saw a picture of your daughter. The phone lit up on the back seat just as I was pulling up at home. That's how I found it. She's very pretty."

"Yes, she is. You two have that in common already."

Kate bites her lip, dodging the suggestion in his comment that she and six-year-old Alexis might end up with more in common before too long. She evades his remark with a question: Interrogation 101 again. "Do you need your cell to stay in touch with her?"

"I wouldn't want to be without it for too long, but no. Not strictly speaking. Meredith calls every night at nine New York time."

Kate looks at her dad's watch. That's less than thirty minutes away. But the thought of having to hang up their call disappoints her.

"I should let you go. She'll be calling soon and—"

"In half an hour," Castle points out calmly, sounding as amused as she is flustered.

"I don't want to interrupt—"

"Keep me company, Kate? Mm? Just a few more minutes? I like your voice."

Kate sighs, tired now. She answers without thinking or filtering her thoughts. "I like yours too. But I should go."

"Sorry. That was selfish of me. You probably have things to do. Of course you do."

She drops her forehead onto her hand and closes her eyes, wincing. "Five minutes won't hurt."

He sounds delighted. "Great."

* * *

"Were you writing? When I called, I mean?" She missed her chance to ask about his work when they were out at the bar tonight, since time flew by so quickly. She's kicking herself for passing up the opportunity to learn more about his life as an author.

"No, actually. I was…"

Silence.

"Rick? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I'm just…I was taking a shower," he admits, since it's the truth. He sounds…bashful, which seems odd after the night before. But then he's also a lot more sober than he appeared to be the previous evening.

"Ah. You're not still…"

"What? Wet?"

They both laugh. It's funny and awkward and not. It's intimate and yet companionable in a way Kate has missed, with little time for friends and too many barriers erected to let anyone in anyway close enough for a nighttime talk like this.

How does he do that, she's busy wondering when he stops chucking and answers.

"No. All dried and ready for bed."

"At this hour?"

"I've had a big couple of days. Thought I'd catch up on the sleep I missed last night in your not-so-comfortable custody suite. You know you guys should definitely rename that. Anything with the word "suite" attached should really have room service and an actual en suite bathroom facility with fluffy towels and—"

"You mean you missed the can in the corner?" Now who's teasing.

"_Eww_," winces Castle, wrinkling his nose at the pungent memory of the stinky, stainless steel, anti-vandal toilet fixed to the wall in the corner of the holding cell.

"And Sarge didn't have someone pass you a stale sandwich and a can of soda through the bars in the middle of the night? Shocking!" Kate laughs, imagining Castle's face if he had.

"Have lunch with me tomorrow?"

The line crackles with the awkward silence that follows his unexpected request; a heavy, weighty silence that neither of them breaks for several seconds.

"Can't. I'm on shift again," Kate finally replies, with a quiet that dampens everything that came before.

"You still have to eat. Bring your partner. What's his name…"

"Jurkowski? No way." On this point she is emphatic, immovable as a chuck of quarried rock.

But Castle isn't a man to be put off easily – not by work or family or her evident, blunt reluctance. "When can I see you then?"

"_Rick._" She winces at the warning and the irritation she can hear edging into her tone.

"What, Kate? I need to see you. I want to see you. At least let me thank you for finding my phone."

"You don't have to thank me," she sighs, running a hand through her hair. Saying no to this guy is inexplicably hard.

"But I'd like to."

She buries her head in her hands, the phone still pressed up to her ear where she can hear his patient, regular breathing.

"Kate, I really like you. No bullshit. I promise. No games. I just…I like you, okay?"

It's too much.

"I can't. I'm sorry. I just can't. Please don't push. I already told you, my life is…it's too complicated. Please don't ask me again."

* * *

It's thin - her protest - tissue thin and more hurtful than she would ever mean it to be were she thinking straight. But he caught her unawares and it is – hurtful - because it's delivered without context. He doesn't know the history, the background, the dark, painful secret that has driven almost every major decision she's made over the last four years. He doesn't know, most of all, that this isn't really about him, anymore than it's about her believing she has no room for _anyone_ in her life, for any romantic relationship. Because beyond the odd random hookup, she has eschewed any prolonged attachment to anyone. Friends included. It's safer that way.

After a hanging pause, Castle's response is swiftly delivered and unerringly apologetic, which somehow makes it worse. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to overstep. I have a habit of just opening my big mouth and well…you've seen me in action. I don't have to tell you how big an idiot I can be."

She wants to tell him that he's not an idiot, that he's already been like a savior to her in some small way. But the words won't come. They sound too big and grand when she tries them out in her head. The idea that his books, her mother's copies of his books, have somehow brought her solace, comfort, hope in the strangest of ways, the idea of saying any of that aloud just sounds wrong when she scrabbles around inside her own brain trying to scare up the right words. So she says nothing. She says nothing about the books, she just goes with what's safe and mundane. She goes with what will end this conversation before she makes some big mistake she can't even put her finger on right now.

"I'll leave your phone with the desk sergeant. Put your name on it, make sure it's waiting for you whenever you manage to come by."

"It's the best I can do," she adds, a few pounding, sickening heartbeats later, feeling like an utter fraud. A fraud and a coward. She doesn't know which is worse, because she does like him. She likes him a lot and that really scares her.

"Thanks for your call, Kate," Castle replies, his tone suddenly more businesslike and grown-up than she's ever heard before. "I appreciate you letting me know that you found it. Please tell whichever sergeant is on duty that I'll be by tomorrow morning to collect it."

"No problem," she whispers, with the deepest, most sinking feeling ever.

"Well…g'night, Kate. You…you take care."

"Thank you. You too. Goodnight."

* * *

When he hangs up, she drops her phone and doubles over, letting her forehead land on the cool surface of the countertop and then she shuts her eyes, willing the world away. Her stomach feels empty, since they never got around to eating, and a queasy feeling rises to fill her throat. She makes it to the kitchen sink just in time, retching violently but only managing to bring up some bitter, acidic froth from the alcohol she drank that she spits and rinses away.

A glass of water makes her feel marginally better, but only if we're splitting hairs. It makes her feel no less empty in her heart and no less sick over what she just did. The clichéd phrase - _it's for the best_ – hovers in and around her thumping head, beating the words out on repeat, like a tattoo. But she knows that it is and it isn't…for the best. How much longer she'll hang on to that worn out slogan is anyone's guess. But it's getting more threadbare, more moth-eaten, and less true by the day. Nothing she's been doing lately is for the best, let alone pushing away this kind, funny man she's just met. This kind, funny man whose words provided solace when nothing else worked to numb the pain. She should know, she tried everything else.

She finally stands, straightens her spine, and begins busying herself by making toast and putting the kettle on for tea before bed. "_No use crying over spilled milk"_ is another well-worn phrase, one her mother was fond of using. It's at times like these she needs to dust that one off and stick it to her fridge, right along with _"tomorrow is another day"_, though whoever thought up that inane remark should get no prizes for merely stating the obvious.

By bedtime she's feeling better. A little. She's sleepy from the chamomile and feeling just a fraction less sad inside. She blindly reaches for a book on her nightstand and comes back with her mom's worn copy of _Gathering Storm_, the one she dug out of a storage box when she got home last night. She turns the title over in her hands, restlessly wondering if Rick was right about fate: if the Universe is trying – in some rather heavy-handed manner – to tell her something. Well, whatever it is, she's too tired to figure it out right now.

She falls asleep with her hand resting over the photograph of a much-younger looking Richard Castle, his smile sincere and unburdened beneath the warm tips of her fingers.

"_It's for the best,"_ is the final thought to float through her brain, before the heavy weight of sleep descends to silence all.

He's still smiling and she's nothing but trouble.

_It's for the best._

_TBC..._

* * *

_A/N: Ooops! I'm sure they'll get funny again soon. xxx_

_Note: *BOLO = Be On the Look Out: an acronym used by law enforcement, basically an all-points bulletin._


	9. Chapter 9 - The Ambush

_**Chapter 9 – The Ambush**_

Castle is waiting for her the very next day when she shows up at the Twelfth to start her shift. He's casually loitering in the vestibule between the inner and outer sets of swing doors, looking as if he owns the place. A picture of studied nonchalance, he has his shoulder pressed against the tiled wall where he's leaning, institutional green paint propping him up, a copy of the _New York Times_ expertly folded to reveal only the article he's currently reading.

He reacts to her presence instantly, standing up straight, his height impressive against her flat, black, work boots. "You're late," he informs Kate, glancing at his watch.

Surprise, followed closely by indignation, color her response.

"Mr. Castle, what are you doing here?" she retorts, stunned by his reappearance at her place of work. It's as if her brain contains some magical genie, a genie that has the power to summon a person before her by the mere act of thinking about them.

Because she was…thinking about him.

"So, here's the thing," he begins, completely ignoring the startled look she mostly fails to hide as he falls in step with her, walking by her side into the lower half of the precinct, so close that they bump shoulders and elbows as they clear the inner set of doors.

"The thing?" murmurs Kate for something to say, feeling her cheeks flush with the rush of so many emotions at once.

She surprised, annoyed, actually make that completely taken aback to the point of violence…and then he starts talking in a way that reveals a little of his own nerves, just a slight excitable tremor in his voice, and she feels relieved. She feels a little bit relieved because he's the one shouldering the responsibility for this. He's the one continuing to do the hard work so that she doesn't have to. His actions are absolving her of responsibility, and still she finds herself railing against it.

* * *

She's a mess.

She hardly slept the night before. At one she woke with her hardback copy of _Gathering Storm_ still lying on her chest. After banishing the book to her nightstand - its weight one metaphor she certainly didn't want to contemplate the meaning of at that ungodly hour - she tossed and turned through a series of tormented, dream-filled naps, haunted by images of a faceless little girl being chased through a dark, twisty wood by a large, equally faceless man. The man gave off vibes of evil despite saying not a word, his presence disturbing for its silent menace as much as anything. She awoke with a start, feeling hot and exhausted, irritable and confused, at around 6am, the city still dark and fairly silent beneath her window.

Her day got off on an extra bad footing when she realized she was out of coffee at home, and had to make a special trip to the coffee shop around the corner on her way into work to pick up her favorite order - a grande skim latte with two pumps sugar-free vanilla. This essential detour almost made her late. And now this man is here again, waiting for her after she told him last night that he should leave her alone, forget her, don't call again…_ever._

Does he listen to anyone or take no for an answer at all, she wonders to herself, as she hears him start talking again.

* * *

"Yeah, so here's the thing," he repeats, when Kate halts at the bottom of the half-flight of stairs that lead up to the precinct's main reception area.

It's a public space where anyone could see or hear them, and she's not about to risk that again. The Twelfth suddenly seems riddled with aging desk sergeants who run the precinct by day with an iron fist, and then act as touts for _Match-dot-com_ by night. She wonders if they're on commission or if they just meddle because their own lives are so sad and empty that they need to live through the lens of other people just to keep from ending it all.

When she looks at the writer, he scares her. She finds his face too full of hope; so full of the effort he's putting in to get past her barriers in order that she'll even talk to him again. It's too much and it's..._right there_, just sitting on the surface, swimming in his eyes for her to see so plainly. The optimism in his persistent blue gaze merely adds to the guilt she already feels and uncertainty she's secretly harboring over the decision she made last night: to nip this in the bud before it gets anymore out of hand and he finagles his way even further into her life.

She looks away and then turns back to face him, intent on cutting him dead. But he gets in before her, as he seems able to do almost every time she goes about setting him straight.

"I know you said you didn't want to see me again. But I don't believe that's actually true."

Her mouth falls open at his jaw dropping audacity, but no sound comes out, and Castle takes full advantage of her stunned silence to keep on talking.

"Truth is, I can't stop thinking about you. Okay? And I…I mean _all night_. And I figure I'm not the only one who was there in that bar or on that phone call last night. Kate, we _made_ a connection. And whether you're ready to acknowledge that fact or not…" he shrugs. "I'm prepared to wait until you are. _Ready_ that is."

_Fact!?_ Her brain screams the word at her until her mouth is able to catch up and form whole sentences again.

"Did you just say _fact?_" she spits out, one hand falling to land on her hip, the other clutching her coffee cup so hard it looks like she might pop the lid right off.

Castle nods in response, holding his tongue for once, sensing that she isn't about to leave it at that.

He's not wrong.

"That we _"made a connection"_," she repeats, making air quotes around the words with her fingers and her mocking tone, "is a fact to you? How can you know that? How can you _presume_ to speak for me?" She's getting into her stride now, anger taking over from any fleeting capitulation towards guilt.

"How can I—? Because I look in your eyes and I see this flicker of…of _something_. And maybe it's just a flicker right now, but I know it's there."

"You see a _flicker?_" repeats Kate, deadpan, voice flattened by sarcasm. "A flicker of…of _something._ What are you a clairvoyant now?"

Castle purses his lips, waiting out her acerbic tirade. But when it's over, it's as if it never happened, at least for him. He seems unphased, as polite and upbeat and jovial as ever. "Look, I have no idea what your deal is, okay? I can see that there's some…_issue_ you're figuring out. And whether that's because some dumb jerk hurt you and you've sworn off men, or if it's something else entirely…I just want you to know that I can wait. I'm a patient guy, Kate, believe it or not, and so I can wait until you're ready. However long it takes."

* * *

She's opening and closing her mouth like a guppy, trying to find the next best words to respond to this outrage, when the double doors swing open behind her and a gush of fresh air whooshes in.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't our two love birds. Should I rush out and buy a hat or are we taking it slow?"

Kate doesn't have to turn around to guess where this pithy little remark has come from. Hardass Halliday is chuckling to herself and Castle is giving the woman a grin and a little wiggle of his fingers over her shoulder.

"It's her, isn't it?" she half mouths and half whispers to the writer, their only point of collusion this morning so far.

"Yep," he replies through gritted teeth. "Just grin and nod along."

"Date went well I take it, if you're in here doing the walk of shame, Beckett."

Kate's mouth falls open once more, and she looks close to infuriated, but Castle steps in to prevent her from making career suicide by saying something she'll later regret.

"Actually, I dropped my phone in the back of a cab and Officer Beckett kindly brought it to the precinct for me to pick up," he explains truthfully.

Halliday frowns. "So…does this mean you didn't spend the night together?" presses the blunt cop, looking from one face to the other for answers.

"_Sarge!_" exclaims Kate, opening her mouth to add more when Castle slips his arm around her shoulders and tugs her into his side. He gives her a tight squeeze that's supposed to indicate "leave this to me".

"I'm actually kind of an old fashioned guy, Sergeant Halliday. You probably couldn't tell that about me straight off just by looking, but…I am," he smiles, radiating charm like it's going out of style.

The sergeant appears disappointed to hear this. "So…that mean no sex on the first date?" she clarifies, in the bluntest manner possible, shocking both Kate _and_ Rick this time.

"_No!_" exclaims Kate, who has had quite enough of her private life being poked around and raked over the last couple of days. "No, we did _not_ sleep together, and—"

"But we're hoping to real soon," interrupts Castle, watching a light go on in Halliday's eyes, just as he expected it might. Give her what she wants to hear and maybe she'll go away, is his reasoning. He just doesn't have any opportunity to explain this tactic to Kate just yet. He hopes she doesn't take his head off before he gets the chance to.

"Alrighty," grins the, clearly sex-starved woman, who seems intent on living vicariously through the young cop and the millionaire writer's budding romance. "Well, you two love birds have a good day," she rounds off, giving them a sweet smile and a parting wink.

Kate's about to turn her ire on Castle, his arm still looped around her shoulder holding her in place beside him, when Halliday turns back to have one final go.

"And, Beckett, kiss the guy already and then get moving! You're gonna be late for roll call. That's twice this week," she barks, as she runs up the stairs to reception, displaying the Mr. Hyde side to her nature.

* * *

They're still standing staring after Halliday a couple of seconds on from this parting remark, bemused and a little shell-shocked. Kate can smell Castle's cologne and it's making her woozy. She eases herself out from under his arm and finally marshals her thoughts enough to look at him square on.

"What the hell just happened?" he gets in first, seeming at a loss for the only time since she met him.

"You _lied_ to my Sergeant, is what happened."

"I did? I didn't notice."

"You didn't notice? All that stuff about you being a gentleman and us hoping to sleep together soon? You didn't hear any of that as it sailed right out of your mouth? Does lying come so easily to you?" she wonders, narrowing her eyes.

"Which part of that is a lie exactly?" he asks calmly.

Kate fumes, too tongue-tied by his nerve and her own fury to even reply. "Everyone around her is crazy today," she mutters to herself. "Crazy," she repeats, leaving Castle standing as she turns and heads for the stairs.

"Hey, Beckett?" he calls after her, hoping she'll turn around.

"_What?_" she demands, her hands on her hips.

"My cell phone?"

"Shit!" she curses, jogging back down until she's level with him. "Here," she huffs, stuffing the offending piece of tech into his outstretched hand.

He catches her by the wrist as she turns to go. "Kate," he says quietly, locking eyes with her. "I meant everything I said just now."

His thumb strokes the soft, vulnerable skin that covers the veins on the underside of her wrist, somehow managing to slip beneath the cuffs of her navy blue nylon duty jacket and uniform shirt. Goose bumps retexture the skin of her arm, rushing all the way up to her elbow.

"Thought most of that was for Halliday's benefit?" she says, suspicious and curious both, suddenly fighting the tug of excitement churning low down in her belly.

"I meant _everything_ I said, Kate," he repeats, leaving her in no doubt as to his intentions or sincerity.

He scares her, this one. He sees too much and he won't be put off, and he just...he scares her.

"Good for you," snaps Kate, attempting to turn away from him. But he holds onto her wrist so that she's forced to turn back again.

"_What?_" she snarls, angrily searching his face. "What is it with you? I'm about to be late for the second time in two days. Do you want me to lose my job? Is that it? My humiliation isn't enough for you?"

"No, of course I don't want you to lose your job. You're an excellent cop. And you'll make a fantastic detective one day."

"What would you know about what it takes to become a detective?" There's bite to the question, but also a touch of curiosity because she wants that job so badly, and much sooner than "one day".

"You'd be surprised. I've known a few good ones in my time…as a writer," he shrugs, offering her this little nugget of how he works when he's researching a novel.

"One of these "method actor" types," she states, looking him up and down with a critical eye. "Might have known."

"What does that mean?" asks Castle, holding onto her for as long as he possibly can before she disappears again, as he knows she must.

"Just…you said it yourself. You're the kind of guy who makes connections wherever he goes. Figures you'd have a cop or two in your back pocket."

"I meant for research," Castle clarifies.

"If you say so," murmurs Kate, cutting her eyes to her wrist, which his large hand is still encircling.

"Beckett! _Roll call!_" yells Halliday, leaning so far over the front counter that Kate can see her large white-shirt encased bust from here.

"I really have to go," she tells Castle, the fight and anger and indignation all drained out of her by the time he lets her wrist slip free of his fingers.

He clears his throat and takes a step back. "Thank you again for this," he says, holding up his cell phone.

"I didn't crack your pin code in case you were wondering. Your secrets are safe," Kate promises, trying to end things on a more harmonious note.

Castle chuckles at her remark.

"Well…have a safe tour. Go catch the bad guy," he adds, scuffing the ground with his shoe, displaying his reluctance to leave her.

"Thanks, and good luck with the writing. If you're ever looking for extra authenticity—" She pauses, and Castle's head shoots up, the light of hope back in his eyes when he stares at her. "You can always give Halliday a call," Kate adds, grinning so widely at her own joke, she's so pleased with herself. "No way _she'd_ turn you down," she adds, almost doubling over with a fit of the giggles at Castle's stricken expression.

"Oh, yeah, great. Laugh at the guy who saved your ass with your boss this morning, why don't you."

Kate almost chokes on her words. "Saved my ass? You all but invited the woman to come watch us have sex for the first time," she says, drawing a loud whistle from a couple of beat cops who happen to be passing by.

"Maybe you should lower your voice."

"And maybe you should kiss my ass."

"Isn't that what I've been trying to do all along? Amongst other things," he whispers, arching one eyebrow oh so suggestively.

He's too calm about everything, and smug and amused for her liking. He makes her blood boil.

"_Argh!_" Kate roars in frustration, because he worked her into a corner, not to mention got her to talk about them actually sleeping with one another. "I'll see you around," she says, as off-handedly as possible, taking the stairs two at a time before he can come up with another ploy to detain her even longer.

"_I'll be waiting_," Castle yells, loud enough that she can't miss this promise as his words echo after her down the hall.

_TBC..._


	10. Chapter 10 - The Campaign

**_Chapter 10 – The Campaign_**

It starts off with little things – a note stuck to the front of her locker bearing little more than a smiley face and a scrawled letter R that could well be passed off as a smudge; a bouquet of flowers left outside her front door at home, no card, just the bright scarlet faces of a posy of _freesia grandiflora_ peeping up at her from the shelter of their brown paper wrapping. The flowers would have to have been specially imported at this time of year, their color and presence designed to lift her mood, or so she surmised. Either way, he gets points for being thoughtful and sweet and original as far as choice of blooms go. A few days after the flowers came a bunch of colorful balloons tied on to her mailbox in the lobby of her building, bobbing Mylar heads bearing the slogan "Be Happy" on their shiny, metallic faces, as he continues to try to wear her down or maybe just make her smile.

She does smile but otherwise resists the temptation to get in touch.

He inveigles his way into her life via surrogates, colluding with people suddenly prepared to take an interest in her happiness now that _he's_ hanging around. He plays the famous writer card, she assumes, introducing himself around her home stomping ground and her work, which he now seems to know like the back of his hand. These people, who never bothered much with her before, thank God – her super; her neighbor from down the hall, Mrs Pickwick; the young male barista at her local coffee shop who she suspects has a crush on her, along with every desk sergeant in the Twelfth Precinct by the looks of it - these people now aid and abet with impunity because we're talking Richard Castle here: the rich, successful author with a regular spot on Page Six. Yes, a little fame goes a long way if you're setting out to commit infractions, no matter how big, how small or how sneaky.

Sergeant Halliday's shift pattern suddenly changes. It changes to align mysteriously with Kate's…though some (Kate) would say suspiciously.

Even her own partner has a hand in things, she realizes one cloudy Friday afternoon while riding shotgun in their RMP, when she opens the folder on her lap on the way to that day's assignment and a page torn from one of his novels falls out. The extract has been ripped from _Storm Rising_, she notices, after a quick scan of the action, and the words: _have_ \- _dinner_ – _with_ \- _me_ are circled in red pen at random intervals across the page to make up the simple message. How he even found such a page is beyond her. "_Neat trick"_, she murmurs inside her own head, giving him points for creativity with this latest, more direct attempt at wooing her into meeting up with him again.

So, yes, it starts off with little things and then it escalates.

And then things mysteriously go quiet.

* * *

For a week or more there are no further clues, no gifts, no prompts or requests for her company or her time. When three more days go by and she hears nothing further, she begins to worry. He said he was patient, would wait as long as it took, but maybe her silence was just too deafening, her lack of response too discouraging, even for a man as persistent and imaginative as Richard Castle has shown himself to be.

Maybe he finally gave up.

This thought nags in and around the edges of her brain at the oddest of times. Morning roll call is one. He showed up twice, only twice at the precinct, before she sent him away with a flea in his ear, right before this little campaign of his kicked off, and yet roll call for her is now inextricably linked to the writer in her mind. She pushes open those heavy swing doors of a morning half-expecting to find Richard Castle lounging up against the wall with that infuriatingly smug look on his face. The look that says "I know you want me and I'm just going to keep showing up until you cave." Well, she didn't cave and now he's gone, and she couldn't be more glad about that.

Except she isn't.

She lies in bed at night, lights out, her cell phone screen illuminating the ceiling with an ice-blue flare as she stares at his phone number. She added it to her contacts the night she had to call him after he left his cell phone in the back of the taxi, no idea why at the time. She'd be embarrassed to admit to anyone that she saved his details in her phone at all. But she stares at it now, willing something to happen – a text, a phone call, a flash of ESP – something that will take her future out of her own self-destructive hands. Because she doesn't want to bear the responsibility for this: for starting something with a grown man who has a successful career and a child, a man who lives at least some of his life in the public spotlight, when she might screw it up in record time and end up running away again, leaving a trail of broken pieces behind her.

When Castle pushed, it felt great because she could push right back and have it mean nothing, or she could let him push some more until he got what he wanted, making it all his fault when things went south, as they inevitably would, and they imploded. But now he's stopped pushing and she wants him even more, and she hates herself for being so weak and so fickle. A contrarian, that's what her mother would call her…_had_ called her in the past. Always wanted the boy once he'd moved on to chase after her best friend, only wanted the ice cream flavor that had just run out.

But she's not twelve anymore and just how long is she going to let her past run her life?

* * *

The door to the loft swings open and she blurts out the words that have plagued her for days, immediately. No hello, no preamble, no _"sorry I didn't call first"_, in fact no style to her approach whatsoever.

"It wasn't a guy."

Castle looks stunned, and then his face softens towards a smile, before his brain catches up with the words she's just said and he frowns.

"What wasn't a—" His frown remains until his confusion begins to clear, and she watches his brow smooth a little. "Oh! Uh, right," he says, glancing back over his shoulder into his home.

He may have company, something she never even considered before embarking on this folly with all the panache and impulse control of a thirteen-year-old boy.

"Anyway…I just thought you should know," she says, chewing her lip, realizing just how dumb an idea this was. She turns to walk away, getting only halfway down the hall before he catches up with her, sliding to a stop by her side in his slippers.

"Kate, come in?" he says gently, catching her elbow but letting go instantly when she turns to look at him, wide-eyed with embarrassment. "Please. Won't you come in?"

"I should have called. I don't know what I was thinking. So stupid…just turning up like this. Sorry. This is so rude."

"Hey. It's not rude and you're here now, so…please…come inside."

She looks at him for a second, drawn to the eagerness and the sincerity of his invitation, considering for a moment the facts. If she turns around now and goes home without saying anything more, what does she have? An embarrassing scene to join her frustration in the dark of night is all. At least she can thank him for the gifts if she stays, maybe attempt to explain her silence. So she nods, and he leads her to his loft, throwing quick glances over his shoulder to make sure she's still following, as if he can't believe that she's even here.

* * *

Once over the threshold of his warm, inviting home, she looks around with a kind of childlike wonder that might be more appropriate were she visiting the _Guggenheim_ for the first time, instead of just standing in the middle of his SoHo living room while he watches her stare. He forgets sometimes how far he's come from his life as a child; from the tiny rented apartments he shared with his mother as they moved around wherever her acting roles took her, and then the shared hovels of his early adulthood, before he made a dollar or two and ranked privacy and working plumbing among his number one priorities.

"I got your note and…all the other stuff," Kate admits, giving him a slightly embarrassed smile when she finally turns back to face him.

"Yeah, might have gone a little overboard with the—"

"The balloons, yeah," they both say at the exact same time, and then they stare at one another, eyes growing wider, Kate's cheeks becoming warm with the effect of his heated gaze focusing upon her like a spotlight.

"I liked the freesia," she adds, stiltedly. "Red…very…yeah," she nods, trailing off to look down at her shoes.

Castle finds some manners and the presence of mind from somewhere to snap out of this Kate Beckett-induced-trance and take action before things completely go south.

"Take a seat. I'll get us something to drink. Would you prefer beer, wine…coffee maybe?"

"Uh…beer is fine," she nods, watching him leave for the kitchen. "You have a nice place," she says, taking the opportunity to look around some more.

"Thanks," Castle replies, scanning the ground floor area of his loft across the kitchen counter, trying to see his home as Kate sees it.

"Have you lived here long?"

"Few years…must be almost seven now. I bought it when Alexis…when Alexis was on the way."

"Oh."

Her _"Oh"_ is loaded with the weight of his own messy history, the parts of it that he shared with her in the bar she took him to, the only time they've been out together since she arrested him. He feels the phantom of his ex-wife hovering over this conversation, and he feels the urge to dispel the myth that there might be anything left on that front by making sure she knows their relationship is as dead as the Pharaohs.

"Yeah, but look. You don't want to hear about my issues. That's all ancient history. Why don't we sit down?"

Kate pauses and then nods. "Thanks."

He hands her a bottle of beer and then sits a respectable distance away. "What did you mean earlier…when you said that it wasn't a guy?"

"Did you give up on me?" she counters, immediately horrified by her own runaway mouth, revealing her hand and her thoughts as transparently as if her forehead were made of plate glass.

Castle reacts instantly, horrified. "What? No! What makes you say that?"

"When things went silent, I just assumed…"

"I promised I would wait," he insists, fighting the powerful surge of hope he feels welling inside him like a geyser, despite how sudden this turnaround seems.

Kate nods slowly before speaking again. More care taken over the words this time. "It wasn't a guy. That's not why…why I'm so…so messed up."

"_Okaaaay,_" Castle murmurs, watching her face intently.

She looks stormy and somber, like a damp day in February when you can't wait to get out of the house but the wind just won't stop blowing and the rain is lashing the windows, and so you're trapped, stuck inside with your miserable thoughts, longing for spring.

"It's kind of a long story."

"I like long stories. Kind of goes with the day job."

"With a sad ending."

"Endings lead to new beginnings," he offers, with this trademark side of optimism she's beginning to recognize as a part of who he is.

"I think I'm still waiting for my new beginning," she admits, soberly.

"I see."

"I don't mean to be so gloomy. There's just no way that…" she draws her brow together sharply until a crease forms in the middle, as if someone took a pen and drew a line down her forehead.

"No way that what?" he encourages.

"There's no way to spin this so that…so that I can make it sound any better."

"In case you've forgotten, I write crime fiction for a living. Things generally take a dark turn by page three if not before. Just…tell me."

"I…I'm not used to sharing this with anyone. I don't even know where to start."

"How about at the beginning?"

"The beginning," she repeats, her eyes growing cloudy and unfocussed.

He can see her struggle, and it's painful to watch, no matter how much he wants her story.

"Kate, you don't have to do this, you know. We can just sit, have a beer and talk about the weather for all I care. I'm just glad that you're here. So…you don't have to tell me."

She smooths her hands down over her jeans and straightens her spine, as if she just came to some kind of decision. "Yes, I do. I want to. Or rather, I think I need to. God, I'm not making much sense," she admits, running a hand through her hair, sending it spiking up in places, leaving him with a deep urge to smooth it back down.

She takes a deep breath and opens her mouth.

"_Daddy?_"

* * *

Castle leaps to his feet when a little face appears halfway down the stairs, the sleepy eyes of a tiny girl peering through the glass balustrade, her elfin body dressed in pale pink pajamas and with feet that are bare. "Hey, there sweetheart," he singsongs gently, beckoning to her as she comes down the last of the stairs slowly and carefully. "Did we wake you, pumpkin?" he asks, catching her when she jumps into his arms from the last three steps.

"I flew, daddy. Like in the airplane. Did you see me fly?" she squeaks, as he spins her in a circle, legs stretched out behind her while he holds her at arm's length, as if she weighs no more than a feather.

Kate is already standing stiffly by the sofa, waiting for a good point to interrupt, wishing she didn't have to. "I'm sorry. I'm interrupting. I should…go," she says, thumbing towards the front door.

"No. No, please stay. It's the jetlag. She's out of sorts. I'll put her back to bed. This'll just take a second," Castle insists, having set his daughter back on her feet.

Alexis sways unsteadily by his side, like a little drunk Leprechaun, a crazy, intoxicated grin on her face as she surrenders herself to the childhood high of dizziness. Kate remembers that high with a pang. Her father pushing her higher and higher on the swings while she closed her eyes and flew, stomach dropping with every rush back and forth through the air, defying gravity.

She swallows and blinks. "When did she get back?"

"I flew out to L.A. a few days ago. Brought her back with me this morning. Long flight," he says, arching his eyebrows knowingly.

"I'll bet," nods Kate, wondering how he copes so easily in so many different spheres, moving from one setting to another without missing a beat. The trip to L.A. also explains his silence for the last few days, calming her further.

"Who's the pretty lady?" whispers Alexis, tugging on the leg of her father's jeans.

They both look surprised to find the little girl in the room, so absorbed in each other that they've forgotten she's even there.

"Alexis, I'd like you to meet Kate. Kate's a good friend of mine."

Castle smiles at Kate, hoping she won't refute this description of their status – one of a solid friendship - when they only met such a short time ago and under such unusual circumstances.

"Hi, Kate. I'm Alexis Harper Castle and I'm six and a half," announces the little redhead in a self-important, yet still modestly shy manner.

"Hi Alexis. It's lovely to meet you."

"Thank you. It's lovely to meet you too," she beams, so proud of herself and her pretty manners.

They smile at one another from the trough of an awkward silence. Alexis stares unabashedly at Kate, seeming to take in every detail of the young woman's appearance with poise beyond her years. From the studied, methodical manner of her gaze, it's almost as if she's trying to memorize her. The short, dark spikey hair, the red slash neck sweater, dark jeans and black boots that add to her considerable natural height: all of these features seem to fascinate the little girl despite how tired she must be.

"Kate's a police officer," Castle announces, with a clear note of pride in his voice that makes Kate blush.

Alexis emits a tiny gasp of wonder at this exciting piece of information. "Do you have a _gun?"_ she whispers, staring even harder.

Kate looks to Castle for guidance on what to say. He simply nods for her to tell the truth.

"I carry a gun when I'm at work, wearing my uniform. But after work, I leave it at home."

"Have you ever shot anyone?" she asks, white-faced and with eyes as big and round and aquamarine as ice holes cut into a frozen lake.

Castle moves to interrupt. The question is a good one, even a great one. In fact, he wishes he had asked it himself. But the look of naked alarm on Kate's face tells him there's a story for another day.

"Right, I think that's enough questions for one night, young lady. Say good night to Kate."

The little girl pouts at her father, but doesn't otherwise make a fuss or protest. She steps towards Kate with her arm outstretched, a solemn look on her face, thrusting her tiny little hand out for the cop to shake. "I'm very glad to meet you, Officer Kate. I hope we can talk some more sometime," she adds, pushing her long curtain of coppery hair out of her eyes with the back of her other chubby little hand.

"I would really like that," Kate replies, giving Alexis' hand a firm shake. "Sleep well," she adds, stepping back towards the sofa when Castle picks Alexis up and carries her off to bed.

"Be right back," he promises, throwing Kate a look that's hard to pin down over his shoulder.

She wonders if he thinks she will flee as soon as he leaves the room or if it's just that he's still so amazed to find her here that he's slightly in awe of her presence. Either way, she gives him a smile meant to reassure and sits down on the sofa so that he can see her commitment to staying, as he glides along the upper floor landing with his sleepy, charming daughter draped over his shoulder.

* * *

When he comes back downstairs five minutes later, a small pink teddy stuffed in the back pocket of his jeans, he looks relieved and almost surprised to see her still sitting there.

"Hey," smiles Kate. She drops the magazine she was browsing onto the coffee table, watching the pages flutter closed.

"Hey," yawns Castle, stretching in a manner which is entirely too sexy for the tender, parental task he just performed: muscles bulging, his shirt riding up to expose a couple of inches of tan, toned stomach above the waistband of his jeans. His sexy pose is slightly negated by the reappearance of the plush toy he has to yank out of his pocket before he can attempt to sit down.

"Everything okay?" she asks, lifting the teddy into her lap, toying with the satin bow around his neck before meeting Castle's eye.

"Yeah. She's just out of sorts with the time change and the excitement of her trip. She was asleep before I put her in bed. Probably won't remember anything in the morning." He yawns again and then shakes his head. "Not that you don't make an impression, Officer Beckett. I know you did."

"I feel terrible now, barging in here when you're just back from L.A. and everything."

"It's fine. Honestly, I'm…I'm just so pleased to see you, Kate," he says with a sincerity that scorches right through her.

"Yes, but…you have a _child_," she stresses, suddenly noticing the bear she's half-strangling, setting the poor thing aside on the coffee table.

"You don't like my kid?"

Kate's head shoots up and she opens her mouth to rebut the question instantly, only to find Castle grinning at her, confident and relaxed. She picks up the teddy and throws it at his chest instead. He catches it midair, a quick raise of his hand and the bear all but disappears inside the span of his meaty palm. It's impressive.

"You know your kid is cute. You probably had her come down here on purpose, like one of your other little campaign tricks."

"Are you accusing me of underhand tactics, Officer Beckett?" he teases, the glint in his eye chipping away at her flinty exterior. "When the flowers, the balloons and the chocolates don't work I bring out my six year old like she's some—"

"What chocolates? There were no chocolates," insists Kate, drawing him up short.

"Oh, believe me there were. There were chocolates in _abundance._ A great big, heart-shaped box from—"

Kate holds up a hand. "Don't tell me…Jacques Torres?"

Castle nods and Kate slumps.

"That crafty old…"

"What? What just happened? You look like someone stole your lunch money."

"No, but someone stole my chocolates and it doesn't take a detective to figure out who."

Castle shrugs and shakes his head. "Give me a clue."

"Hips like a Mack truck and just a little too invested in this whole enterprise from the get-go."

"Hardass Halliday stole your candy?" he squeaks, starting to chortle.

"Yup. Even switched her shifts so we're on the same rotation. Must have known she was onto a good thing. I _knew_ there was something creepy going on with her."

"I left that box of candies with a card. She promised she'd put them in your locker. Did you even get the card?"

"Our lockers are locked, and for good reason, so I don't know how she was ever going to accomplish that. And no, I didn't get a card. Just a post-it note with a smiley face and a scrawled initial."

"The crafty crone!"

"You didn't write that?"

"Does that sound like me? A tiny scribble next to my initial? No, I'm _way_ too verbose for such a paltry gesture."

Kate laughs at this news, starting to feel some of the tension drain out of her shoulders.

Castle takes a swig of his beer and settles down in his corner of the couch looking more relaxed than he has all night.

"What'd the card say?" asks Kate, arching one eyebrow, and then hiding the curve of her smile around the mouth of her Peroni.

"Don't know if I should say without the chocolates to soften you up."

"You think chocolates were going to soften me up?" she grins, drinking more of her own beer. "Was there hard liquor inside?"

"Don't tell me you don't like chocolate?"

"No, _I_ like chocolate. But that note had better have been something."

Castle looks shifty. "Do you think Halliday would stoop to steaming it open?"

"What did you write?" asks Kate, a trickle of fear running down her spine.

"_Well_," Castle begins, drawing out the moment of torture.

"Well what?" laughs Kate, picking up the teddy bear again and aiming it right at his face this time.

"Hey! You have a great aim," he tells her, lobbing the bear straight back into her lap.

"I visit the range at least once a week. You'd better believe it."

"So…have you?" he asks, surprising her with this segue into a question she doesn't understand.

"Hmm? Have I...?"

"Ever shot anyone?"

Kate laughs, dispelling his earlier assumption that a dark story lurked behind the answer to Alexis' innocent question. "What are you six? That's what all the little kids ask when we go into school to teach them about Stranger Danger and drugs and how to cross the street by themselves."

"Stranger danger, huh?" Castle grins, giving her a slightly salacious look, letting his eyes drift to her moist lips and then slide back up to lock with her own.

"Yeah, you'd think I'd know better than to show up at your door at ten at night...unarmed."

"But I'm so glad that you did," he admits, rearranging his expression to match the sincerity of the sentiment behind his words.

* * *

They remain staring at one another until the air in the loft feels supercharged with heat and electricity both, positively crackling with energy as if it might explode at any second.

"This feels…" She looks away uncomfortably, still turning the pink bear over in her hands, like he's on some kind of spit-roast.

"What? It feels what, Kate? Tell me?" cajoles Castle, sensing some important breakthrough.

"I don't…" she shakes her head, looking lost or stricken.

"Hey, you can tell me anything, okay? Absolutely anything."

"I barely know you."

Castle looks at the floor, disappointed maybe, and then he searches out her face again; ready to fight her reticence with his own firm belief. "Doesn't feel that way to me. Not at all. And I think maybe you feel the same," he adds boldly. "Maybe you're just not ready to admit it."

Kate appears to deflate, like she's giving in. "This feels too…too much…too soon."

Castle's heart leaps in his chest. "That doesn't make it wrong. Not if you trust your own judgment."

"No. But it makes it…" She pauses, floundering for an appropriate, honest word, and yet one that won't make her look weak.

"What? Makes it what?" Castle nudges gently.

"Terrifying."

* * *

This might be the only time in Richard Castle's entire life when "terrifying" equaled the best outcome he could possibly hope for. Aside from coming up with a devil of a plot for one of his novels designed to grab the reader and have them on the edge of their seats, and maybe a trip he once took to the _Six Flags Great Adventure Park_ in New Jersey with some friends to ride the newly opened _Medusa_ attraction: a steel, multiple looping roller coaster whose floor separated and disappeared at the beginning of the ride before each car made a super-fast drop from the 132 foot peak – aside from these events, this is definitely the best use of terrifying he's ever heard.

Kate continues to speak before Castle can share his Six Flags story with her. "I have a painful past."

"You should meet my ex-wife."

"I'm not a cop by choice."

"And a cop isn't who you are."

She stares at him before slumping back against the cushions. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

"Now you're here…now that I've seen you here? Not a chance, Kate Beckett."

Kate sighs, but it's a happier, relieved and more contented sigh than when she arrived. "I should go. It's late. You must be exhausted."

"We have a guest room upstairs," he offers, hopeful of delaying her departure from his home. But it's half-hearted at best. He knows she needs her space, that she must come to him for a change, that chasing after Kate Beckett…well, he's done enough of that to show her he's interested and that he won't let her go without a fight.

"I have a bed at home and it's calling me. But thank you anyway."

* * *

They don't linger on his threshold. He leans in close to kiss her cheek, pulling back almost immediately to watch her lashes rise and curl when she opens her eyes again, looking as tender and vulnerable as he's ever seen her allow herself to be in his presence.

"I had a good time tonight."

"You're pretty low maintenance if an imported beer and a night on the sofa is all it takes."

"It's all about the company for me."

"Ah…then in that case you have _excellent_ taste."

Kate laughs.

"Can I text you?"

"Sure. Just…no more gifts at work, okay?"

"Damn straight. Not with Halliday around to poach them."

"Great. That'll help my reputation no end."

"They still calling you _The Horse Whisperer_?"

"No, thankfully. Life moves on." Kate blushes, realizing the trap door she's just opened for herself.

"So…what is it now?"

"Eh…_Pretty Woman_," she winces, giving him a wan smile and a raise of her eyebrows. "Complete with Roy Orbison soundtrack wherever I go."

"Oh god, I am so sorry."

"It's okay. Just…stop the gifts, and they'll lose interest pretty quickly."

"I'm no sugar daddy, Kate. I promise."

"You're not? I'm so disappointed," she grins, watching how his face reacts to her teasing.

"You're funny."

"I try. It's just...any angle, any weakness, and the guys tend to exploit it," she shrugs. "I'm a big girl. Don't sweat it."

And with that thought she turns to leave, throwing him a wave and her most dazzling smile as she enters his elevator and disappears from view.

It's only once she's gone that he realizes she never told him her secret. If it wasn't a guy who made her so cautious, so walled off, who or what was it? One thing is for sure, he intends to find out.

_TBC..._


	11. Chapter 11 - The Cold Call

_A/N: Can I just say at this point that I'm aware this story is a little like speed dating. It has to be faster than normal and a little beyond the scope of typical character behavior or we'd be here until next Christmas watching them fall in love. I guess, suspend your disbelief, if you have any, is what I'm saying. _

* * *

_**Chapter 11 – The Cold Call**_

She has a nightmare of a week.

First off, she and Jurkowski get assigned to a special traffic-slash-crowd-control detail at the U.N., which is fine in itself, just mind-numbingly boring by the end of day one. The Climate Change Summit is due to last three days, and by day two Kate is coming down with a cold. The wind whips off the East River with a ferocity and relentlessness that is at the extreme end of "in-keeping with the time of year" but not with standing still for hours on end with only arm signals and commanding barks of _"Move back, please,"_ to keep you warm.

By night two she's shivering in her apartment with a blanket around her shoulders, a mug of hot tea dosed with lemon and honey cradled in her hands to keep her warm and a half-used packet of Tylenol lying beside her in bed. The book she's too exhausted and sniffly to even open plays mute companion to her; lying face down on the extra warm quilt she's added to weight the covers on top of her legs. Misery likes company, they say, and Kate Beckett chooses silence for hers.

Day three begins with an even bigger joy. Her period has arrived ahead of schedule, adding cramps and inconvenience to her shift in front of U.N. Headquarters, which basically means standing out on the street for most of the day waving blacked-out ministerial limousines through crowds of protesters, tourists and rubberneckers, hoping access to a bathroom will not become a major issue.

Jurkowski's a gem of a man, as partners go. He has a wife and a couple of daughters for starters, and seems attuned to things of a female nature that most men on the job are too thick-headed, unobservant, openly sexist or down right uncomfortable with to even notice, let alone acknowledge. He watches her struggle only briefly before suggesting she takes the first break; he brings her hot tea with lemon from the guard hut's tiny kitchen, knowing it will be better for her today that strong, bitter coffee; and he sends her fleeting little "chin up" smiles every now and then that get her through the eight and a half hour shift with her humanity and her sanity still intact. The burritos he brings them for lunch don't hurt either, and she resolves to pay him back for his kindness as soon as an opportunity opens up to allow her that chance. All-in-all it's a bad day, but not a terrible one as a cop's life goes.

* * *

She gets home around nine, dumps her bag and her jacket on a chair, and heads straight for the bathroom to begin filling the tub. Her bones ache, her skin is so tender that her clothes rasp over her body like sandpaper, and her head is pounding from the cold and the endless requirement to blow her nose. She feels like a wreck and looks even worse; this deep-held suspicion quickly confirmed by a wincing glance in her unhelpful mirror.

Steeping her achy, shivering self in hot water and a few cups of Epsom salt for half an hour really works wonders. She tops up the tub when the water cools, and then closes her eyes, resting her head and neck against a hand towel she has rolled up at one end of the bathtub. She's forgone a glass of wine tonight in favor of a Theraflu and some vitamin C. The sooner this cold is gone, the sooner she can indulge and feel more like herself again.

Slipping between fresh sheets feels magical; creamy cotton scented with vanilla and lavender from her dryer sheets has her drifting in no time. It's only ten when a chiming alert from her cell phone tugs her back to the surface, her eyes drooping, fingers clumsy over the keys as she tries to read the message.

It's from him.

She closes her eyes and then opens them again, slowly. The text envelope is still there, winking at her. She opens it carefully - like it's the Golden Ticket to _Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory -_ and she holds her breath as she reads.

_Hi, Kate. Just checking in. Hope your week's going well. Great to see you the other night. Any news on the chocolate thief? Rick. _

She reads the message over several times, looking for something in the words (or even in the spaces in between) that will tell her what he's really thinking. She gave him time to settle back into a routine with his daughter after the other night. But truth be told, she's been hoping for a reason to get in touch with him ever since. His silence has been eating away at her, until now.

She sits up in bed, hugging the covers over her knees as she ponders a reasonable reply. Something that will convey her pleasure that he got in touch, while retaining at least some of her dignity as the cool girl; the slightly mysterious, self-contained, definitely not clingy, female cop he was attracted to as soon as they first met.

She types words – _Hey, good to hear from you_ – that sound dull and pedestrian, and then she deletes. She growls at herself in the dark, her brain and wit stultified by cold medication. She types some more – _How's Alexis? Chocolate thief still at large. Crappy week so far, want to make it better?_ – and then she deletes these achingly bad lines too, with her cheeks on fire and her face buried in a blanket.

She's screaming in frustration into her hypoallergenic, down alternative, medium density pillow when her cell phone chirps for a second time.

She freezes.

_Sorry. Last message was total B.S. (forgive the language). Can't stop thinking about you. When can I call?_

She's staring at the words, no ambiguity this time, when it chirps again.

_Is now a good time? R_

* * *

Kate blows her nose, wincing at the sting of tender, chapped skin around her nostrils, the lotion-infused, ultra soft, Kleenex facial tissues doing little to soothe her poor, abused flesh. She chews on her lip, worrying a piece of chapped skin while she weighs up her options. A part of her - the reserved, practical, slightly dark, very private, marginally uptight, exhausted part – has the urge to simply turn off her phone, roll over in bed and deal with the issue tomorrow. The other part – the intrigued, thoroughly wooed, slightly bewitched, playful, fangirl, risk-seeking part – wants to pull up her contacts and call him right now; just surprise the heck out of him and herself, have a late night conversation with someone completely out of her normal sphere, someone unconnected to the job or her small, grief-tainted circle of family and friends.

She jabs at a couple of buttons before she can debate with herself, and within seconds the phone is ringing on his end. His voice, when he answers, is like the balm she's been looking for all night. It's better than the bath or the cold meds or the hot drinks. It's familiar and yet excitingly new, and he's so sincere and unguarded in his pleasure at hearing from her that she forgets to apologize for her croaky voice or explain her snuffles and coughs until he brings it up.

"Hey," she says, smiling warmly in the hopes that he can hear it in her voice.

"Hey, yourself. So…this is a good time?"

"Apparently."

"You weren't…sleeping?"

"Kind of…well, dozing," she admits, drawing a tut-tut of disapproval from the other end of the line.

"Kate, I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry. I'd have got in touch earlier but Alexis has been taking longer to settle at night after the trip to L.A. and—"

"Hey, don't worry. It's fine," she assures him. "My day was kind of crappy anyway, so…so it's good to hear from you."

"It is?" he asks with a smile in _his_ voice this time.

"_Yes_," she sings, before breaking off to cough.

"Are you okay? You sound a little…well, not like you."

"I have a stupid cold," she admits, blowing her nose after asking him to hang on for a second and putting the phone on mute.

"Oooo, you do sound a little rough, Officer Beckett. If I might be so bold."

"Yeah, well, I look even rougher," she replies, with a self-depreciating chuckle which leads to another fit of coughing.

"You poor thing. And I'm sure that's not true," Castle insists, once her coughing bout has died down to just the odd jag here and there. "How's your week been so far? Any more flak from the rank and file?"

"None, other than to ask why the gifts have suddenly stopped. They think you broke up with me."

Castle groans. "I apologize for that, but you did insist."

"And I'm still insistent. No gifts, means no teasing."

"Deal. And Halliday?"

"Giving me the evil eye since her supply of candy was cut off. It's like I was her _dealer_," laughs Kate. "But I'm sure she'll find some poor rookie to make her next project pretty soon. She did ask why you'd stopped visiting though."

"Really?"

"You like her, don't you?" teases Kate.

"No, but I appreciate the help she gave me in—"

He pauses, wondering how the hell to word this without annoying Kate.

"Think very carefully before you speak," warns Kate, enjoying his obvious struggle.

Castle laughs. "Oh, believe me, I am."

"If you say wooing, I'm hanging up right now."

"You don't like wooing?"

"No. I like wooing. I do. I just don't like _talking_ about wooing. It's supposed to be…I don't know, some kind of _art_."

"An art? Really? _The Art of Wooing_," he announces in a booming, self-important voice. "Sounds like some kind of coffee table tome full of expensive black and white photographs. Or a self-help book. Pray tell, what makes wooing an art form, Ms Beckett?"

"You know…natural, almost invisible and maybe a little more…subtle?" she suggests, with a chesty chuckle.

This time Castle really laughs loudly, setting off a fit of coughing of his own. "My balloons weren't subtle enough for you?" he chokes out, laughing more when Kate joins in.

"I'm guessing subtle isn't one of your natural traits. You're a big statement kinda guy."

"I have my moments. What about you? What kind of woman is Kate Beckett?"

* * *

Silence, heavy as a fire blanket, smothers her words, rendering her mute for a moment or two.

Ah, the critical question, the one that makes her stomach drop and typically has her running for the nearest exit. But if she wants phone calls in the dark after work or any of the cheering up Rick Castle seems able to offer in abundance, then she needs to find a way past this question that is open and gives enough of herself that he might be satisfied with her answer and not be left feeling used.

"Kate? Still there?"

"Uh…yeah. Still here. Sorry. I was thinking."

"I'm not _asking_ for your _number_," he jokes.

Kate frowns, misunderstanding the teasing remark. "You already have my number."

"No, I meant—"

She smacks herself on the forehead in embarrassment the second the penny drops. "Ah…oh, shit! I'm such an idiot. You meant _that_ number."

"I'm not being fair. You're sick and it's getting late. We should save this chat for some other time."

"How about coffee after work?" she asks, no idea where this urge to blurt things out at this man has been coming from lately.

"_Really?_" asks Castle, sounding so delighted by the invitation that she wonders if he misunderstood. "You want to meet?"

"For coffee," she repeats, in case some drug-induced psychosis means she just invited him over for sex. Not that she's ruling out sleeping with him. She'd just rather do it when her nose looks less like Rudolph's and she's had a chance to shave her legs. "We could go to Sal's. It's only a couple of blocks from the Precinct. Small, quiet… But only if you have time," she rushes to add.

"Kate, for you I will _make_ time. Tomorrow?"

"Alexis will be okay?"

"My mother can look after Alexis."

"Your mom, right." She doesn't remember hearing about his mom. Even the concept of "mother" still stabs her through the heart, a pain like jealousy or resentment that other people, people even older than her, should still have mothers to care for them when she doesn't. But it's a concept and it passes eventually.

"You'll let me know if you call in sick."

Kate laughs. "Rick, I have a _cold_. Short of a gunshot wound to the chest, back or abdomen, I have no business calling in sick."

"Damn," he mutters, and she can tell that he means to be funny.

"Why? What were you plotting?"

"_Oh_...lots of things," he admits, cryptically, letting her hear him grin.

"Such as?"

"Are we playing fantasy here?"

Her heart begins to speed up. "Try me," she murmurs, daring them both.

"_Okaaaay._ And these are just random, top-of-the-head suggestions," he feels the need to clarify.

"Spit it out. I'm sick. Who knows how long I have left," she giggles.

"You are one tough crowd."

"This is nothing. You should see me heckle at the Comedy Cellar."

"I might just have to do that some time. Go there often?"

"I smell stalling, Mr. Castle."

"Okay, okay. Right," he clears his throat. "How about…a gourmet picnic in the park? We stuff ourselves with goodies from Dean and Deluca, and then we lie on the grass in the sunshine until we fall asleep. Once the weather gets better, of course."

"Mm," Kate hums thoughtfully, encouraging him to come up with more. "Like the sound of that."

"_Or_ we could sneak in to an afternoon screening at the _Ziegfeld Theater_. We can hold hands and whisper in the dark, eat popcorn and chocolate until we feel sick?"

"Holding hands already?" teases Kate, her face flushed a deep shade of red. "You might have to ask my father about that."

"I'd be honored to consult with your dad," Castle counters boldly.

Kate can't help laughing. "Okay, what else you got?" she asks, snuggling deeper under the covers, as if he's telling her a bedtime story, and in his own way he is.

"Maybe a drive out to the Hamptons? We could hunt for shells on the beach…"

Castle pauses to gauge if she's uncomfortable with this level of forward planning, but Kate urges him on in a breathless whisper. "Keep going."

"_So_…we walk the beach, then maybe have lunch out on the deck at _The Lobster Café."_

"Yum."

"Oh, you like that idea. And after, we drink beer on the dunes while we watch the sun set?"

"Any more?" she asks, biting her lip, never wanting this flow of ideas to end, even if all they ever end up being are fairytales to make her forget herself and this rotten cold.

* * *

But Castle's pipeline seems pretty full, and the suggestions flood out relentlessly, getting more and more definite, less and less hesitant, and increasingly bold, as she gives him free reign.

"I'd like us to cook dinner together one weekend after shopping for ingredients at the Greenmarket in Union Square."

"Dinner. You…you have a menu in mind?"

"Let's just go with what's in season, then maybe we can—"

"What?" whispers Kate, when he falters.

"We could read in bed until we fall asleep."

Kate breaks the silence first with a bold repost. "Just reading?" she asks, faking innocence.

Castle laughs, delighted and scandalized. "Naughty, Beckett! Then how about breakfast in bed after I wake you with a kiss?"

The silence that drifts down to settle over them this time is heated enough to scorch; full of tension and dangerous potential. Kate can feel her face flushing and her skin prickling, her nipples tighten, and her cold seems to be improving rapidly, as she encourages him to paint these scenarios for her in greater and greater detail. A part of her knows that they're only being this forward with one another because this is a phone call - they don't have to look into each other's eyes, they can just lets the words go free and then forget them in the morning if regret or shame sets in.

Only regret seems to be the last thing on Kate's mind.

"There's a lot of lying down going on in these imaginary setups of yours."

"Mm-hmm," hums Castle, smirking while he flirts some more. "You opposed to lying down? Some deep-seated objection to being prone you haven't shared with me yet? Are you demurring on religious, moral, legal or ethical grounds, Ms. Beckett, to ending up horizontal, flat...motionless?"

"You don't move if you're lying down…like…_ever?_" she teases back. "Just lay there dead as a fish, is that it?"

Castle seems surprised by her level of flirtation. He's enjoying it and he tells her so. "I like you like this. What cold medication are you taking?"

"Why?"

"So I can stock up for future use."

Kate's heart quickens at the implications of this straightforward explanation. "_Theraflu._"

"Flavor please?"

"Green Tea or…or I like the berry one too."

"Madam has made an excellent choice," he announces, in the style of a French sommelier.

* * *

Kate yawns loudly, unable to stifle the powerful reflex any longer, and suddenly suave, flirtatious Rick Castle turns into papa bear Castle without warning.

"Okay, time for you to sleep, young lady."

Kate is too exhausted to even protest. "I get off shift at four-thirty tomorrow. Give me time to change and get to Sal's. So, shall we say...meet up at five?"

"That's all the time you need?"

"Well, this isn't a date so…" she shrugs, teasing him, smiling as she awaits his reply to that particular challenge.

When he doesn't say anything at all she feels a sudden stab of anxiety, concern that she might have offended him or hurt his feelings after he's been so nice to her tonight.

"Rick, you there?"

"So…what should I wear for this non-date then?" he fires back.

This is Kate's turn to be speechless. Men have never consulted her on their choice of attire before, beyond maybe a tie for a job interview or color of shirt for a wedding. "Uh—"

"I'm just kidding," he lies, betraying some disappointment in his slightly hollow tone. But he soldiers on. "We can keep things casual as long as you like. No pressure. That's my new motto. I'm an older guy with a kid and you're—"

"Definitely interested in—" she interjects quickly, feeling the need to give him some grain of encouragement.

"What? Interested in what, Kate?" he presses, a little too eagerly.

"Spending time with you. Maybe seeing where this...yeah...that," she trails off, her courage failing her slightly at the last moment.

But Castle doesn't seem discouraged in the least. Kate imagines she hears him punching the air and the end of a smothered squeal of happiness that even has _her_ grinning like crazy.

"You're pretty easy to please, you know that?" she tells him, highly amused.

"That's not what my ex-wife used to say."

"Yeah, well, her loss in my gain," admits Kate, again without thinking.

"That so?" grins Castle, calling her out of this unguarded slip of the tongue.

"God, I didn't quite think that through. Can I blame this _entire_ conversation on the _Theraflu_?"

"I'd like to see you try. Did you not hear the recorded message at the start of the call?"

"What message?"

"Your call may be monitored or recorded for quality assurance purposes," he parrots.

"Jackass," giggles Kate.

"Okay, maybe I made that last part up. But I'm not letting you off the hook entirely. You like me Kate Beckett and I like you. Tomorrow's little coffee klatch might not be a date, but—"

"I hear what you're saying. I'm just not fond of labels, okay? They tend to jinx stuff."

"What kind of labels?" asks Castle, truly intrigued.

_Mother, mom, wife, daughter_, thinks Kate, keeping these darker, heartbreaking thoughts to herself.

"I don't know. Just…like adding the word _"date"_ to something brings some kind of pressure I'd rather not think about."

"I'm guessing you don't like _boyfriend_ either."

"Or girlfriend."

"What about _"other half"_? Does that work for you?"

Kate can hear Castle giggling to himself after he says this, fully aware that he's out of order.

"Hanging up now," grins Kate, shaking her head.

"Sleep well, Officer Beckett. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow for our non-date date."

"You're pushing your luck, Rick Castle."

"Sweet dreams. And be safe out there."

"Night," Kate replies softly, finally ending the call with the biggest smile on her face.

She realizes, once she rolls onto her back, that she hasn't so much as sniffed in the last ten minutes. The guy just might be a miracle worker. He certainly has her looking forward to tomorrow with more enthusiasm and excitement than she has in a long, long time.

Sweet dreams indeed.

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: I case you hadn't guessed, I wrote this from the depths of a horrible cold. "Art" imitating life. If there are typos, blame the cold meds. :)_


	12. Chapter 12 - The Non-Date Date

_**Chapter 12 – The Non-Date Date**_

She's running late for roll call.

_Again!_

And the blame for her tardiness could quite conceivably be laid at Richard Castle's feet.

_Again!_

She bolts through the swing doors of the Twelfth with her rucksack bumping against her lower back. The doors whiffle-waffle behind her as she takes the stairs two at a time, breathing heavily, her cheeks a bright shade of pink, bangs spiking up in front.

"Good of you to join us, Officer Beckett."

The voice is unmistakable, the sarcasm deployed like a bomb amid the tone unmissable, slowing Kate's speed walk across the lobby to more of a fast stroll.

She stops well out of striking reach, halfway between the front desk and the stairs to the upper level. "Sorry, Sarge."

"What is it this time, Beckett?" asks Halliday, jerking her chin in an upwardly, enquiring manner.

"This time?" Kate repeats blankly. Because no way in hell is she telling this woman – the chocolate thief, as Kate now thinks of her – that the reason she's late is because she couldn't decide which shirt to bring with her this morning to wear to her meeting with Rick Castle after work.

"Ever since you met that playboy writer you've taken to arriving late, and that's just not like you. These two things wouldn't be connected by any chance?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at the younger officer.

Although the question is couched as a criticism, Kate can tell that Halliday would be only too delighted if she were to admit that the reason she kept arriving late for work was because Rick, the playboy writer, kept her cuffed to her own bed for hours on end, doing increasingly naughty things to her, until she had to beg him to let her go.

Sadly this isn't true.

At least not yet.

"Eh…no, Sarge. Trouble on the 4 Train," she lies, shrugging in a "what can you do" kind of manner, hoping Halliday will let the lie slide and won't check up with her buddies in Transit.

"What kind of trouble?" asks the desk sergeant, her scrutiny bearing down on Kate like a scorching heat lamp turned up to the max.

"EDP, I think. Wasn't in my carriage, so… Listen, Sarge, I'm really going to be late if I don't—"

"Go! Go! But, Beckett," she barks, pointing across the lobby at Kate, "I've got my eye on you. Arrive late one more time this month and I am writing you up. Understand?"

"Yes, Sarge. Thank you, Sarge."

She hears the woman muttering to herself as she sprints towards the locker room to dump her bag. Close call. Too close a call. She needs to pull it together from now on. She's been getting distracted lately and that needs to stop if her goal of becoming the youngest female detective in NYPD history has a chance of ever succeeding.

* * *

They're assigned a pretty quiet, run-of-the-mill sector of the East Village to patrol that day. Their beat runs from the border with Stuyvesant Town at East 14th Street down to the lower edge of Tompkins Square Park at East 7th, and from 1st Avenue in the West to Avenue C in the East of their Precinct. The day drags, which Kate actually takes to be a good sign, since it means she's looking forward to meeting up with Rick for coffee after work, and then at the last minute, it takes off like a runaway train, leaving her feeling panicky, excited and completely underprepared.

The highlight of their tour ends up being a call to the _East Village Apart-Hotel,_ situated on the corner of 1st Avenue and East 9th Street. They receive a request to attend after a male resident made a complaint to management that a laptop had been stolen from his room. Things got a little heated in the reception area of the boutique studio hotel when the guest asked to confront the maid who had cleaned his room the day before. Tempers became frayed and so the manager called the police to intervene before matters turned physical.

When they pull up in front, Kate and Jan get out and then stand looking up at the building for a moment or two, taking the temperature of the area and getting their bearings. The hotel is a five-story brownstone, and of course the guest in question has a room on the top floor. The 10lbs of extra weight Kate carries around on her duty belt really hits home today as she climbs all the way to the top of the old building with her cold still tugging at her lungs and blocking her nose. It's a walk-up, so, of course, there is no elevator.

"Wouldn't want to arrive here with two weeks worth of luggage and a couple of kids in tow," comments Jurkowski, as they pant their way to the top of the narrow staircase in single file.

"Don't think this place was really designed with kids in mind," says Kate, looking around the modern, stripped back, studio space, with its exposed brick walls, bare wooden floors, wall-mounted plasma TV and sparkling white bed linen. The rooms are small, but this is New York City. Two white Scandi-design chairs that look like they probably came from Ikea face a narrow shelf bolted to the wall: a feature that goes by the rather extravagant description of "desk space" in the hotel literature.

Kate interviews the maid, while Jan takes the male guest. The maid, Irina Poletskova, is pretty distraught. She rambles in a phlegmy string of hard consonants, peppering the tearful flow of words with _Да_ (da - yes) and _Нет_, (nyet - no) _Спасибо_ ("spa-see-ba" – thank you) and _Я не понимаю_ (I don't understand). Kate is wrapping up her interview in careful, well pronounced, but rather formal Russian when Jan appears at her side; his notebook closed but his mouth hanging open.

"Spasibo. Zapišite, požalujsta," she says, handing the young woman a pen.

"You speak Russian?" Jan doesn't attempt to mask his amazement.

"Apparently," shrugs Kate, enjoying the fact of being able to surprise her older partner for once.

"What'd you just say?"

"I thanked her for her help and asked her to write down her details in case we need to contact her."

"She tell you anything?"

"Not much. Only that she didn't take the laptop. She needs her job too badly."

Jan whispers, "Illegal?" and Kate shrugs in reply, glancing over at the frightened woman with concern.

"You believe her?"

Kate regards the thin, terrified looking woman, her hands red from scrubbing and God only knows what kind of industrial strength cleaning fluids, her face showing the sharp, sallow signs of malnourishment. "Yes, I do. If she was stealing from guests she wouldn't look as if she subsists on boiled cabbage and whatever scraps her boss is throwing out. You get any sense out of him?" she asks, jerking her head towards the hotel guest who made the complaint.

The man in his early thirties sits slumped in a chair in the corner. His eyes drift closed every few seconds and then he wakes with a start when his chin hits his chest and he startles himself with a grunt.

"Yeah, I get the sense he's been partying a little too hard since he got into town. Guy spent _seven hours_ at an all-night club on Bowery last night. Staggered in at eight this morning with a meatball marinara from _Subway_ and a massive headache. Said he woke up a few hours later and his laptop was gone."

"What's your thinking?"

"Frankly? I think the guy wouldn't recognize his own _mother _if she walked in here right now. I say we give the room another going over. Look see if he missed anything."

"You get his permission for a search?"

Jan shrugs. "We find his laptop, I doubt he'll give a rats about the formalities."

"Jurkowski, come on. If we don't find his stuff…you know we're in trouble with the Captain if this pothead comes down off his Rocky Mountain high and makes a complaint."

Jan sighs. "Fine, I'll ask him. And he's from Alaska, just so you know."

"Whatever," mutters Kate, eyeing up the burly pothead. "And don't just ask. Get him to scratch his name in your notebook. Use a doobie if you have to."

"Roger that," quips Jurkowski, flipping Kate a mock salute.

* * *

The laptop in question is finally recovered from beneath a pile of dirty clothes that the stoner from "Baked Alaska" had kicked under his bed. In the course of their search they also find a small quantity of weed packed inside a clear plastic baggie concealed deep within the toe of a rather ripe-smelling hiking boot.

Kate peels off her latex gloves, rolls one inside the other and then tosses them into the trashcan. "You wanna take him in? Charge him with unlawful possession? she asks, watching her plans with Castle go south if they do, given the extra time it'll take to transport, book and process him.

"Not to mention wasting police time by being so _off his face_ he couldn't find his own _ass_ with both hands in broad _daylight,_" Jurkowski adds, in a voice loud enough to stir the man from his doze.

"Yeah, that too," laughs Kate.

"I thought you had plans with what's-his-name, the writer guy tonight?"

"I do…but work comes first, right?"

Jan turns the Ziploc baggie over in his hands and then he dangles it from his fingertips, giving it a little shake as if to weigh the contents. "This is like…less than an ounce. We write him a ticket, he pays the $100 fine and we're good to go."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You deserve a night off with Lady Godiva," he chuckles, bumping shoulders with Kate and giving her a cheeky wink.

"Just write the damn ticket and let's get going," Kate replies, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him.

* * *

Back at the precinct she changes as quickly as she can in a quiet corner of the unisex locker room, speedily debating between the two shirts she brought with her so that no one who walks in could accuse her of over-primping before her date. Ooops! Which is not in fact a date.

"I'd go with the purple," says a voice out of the quiet. Halliday has her back to her when Kate whips around to see who just spoke. "Brings out your eyes," she adds gruffly, giving Kate a brief smile before disappearing again, leaving her alone and bemused.

She goes with Halliday's choice, marveling that she's taking fashion advice from the fifty-something desk sergeant who hasn't been seen out with a man in all the time Kate's been a cop. But the woman is right – purple does bring out the rich tones in her eyes, even her mother used to tell her that – as well as being her favorite color.

Her heart is racing while she leans over the mirror in the ladies' bathroom applying a little mascara, trying to keep her hand steady as she strokes on a suggestion of eyeliner, before adding a final slick of lipgloss. She touches up her lips with a smile on her face, remembering Castle's comments the last time they went out – how the lipgloss made her look _even_ prettier. She's being a sap, she tells her face in the mirror, getting ridiculously excited about having coffee with a guy she arrested less than a couple of weeks ago. But then she remembers their phone call last night – the relief she felt to finally speak to him again after over a week of silence, how much better he made her feel despite her cold, how he always seems able to make her laugh even when she doesn't want to. There's a lot to be said for all of these qualities, and then there's how easy on the eye he is on top of that. Being a great writer doesn't hurt either.

She half jogs the two blocks to the coffee shop until her cold makes breathing difficult and she begins to cough. She covers the final block at a fast-paced walk. He's already there, she can immediately see, when she pushes open the coffee shop's creaky blue wood and glass door. His head floats just above the "Open" sign, decapitated, until she steps inside and can then see the rest of him. He looks good – relaxed, casually dressed, sitting reading the newspaper with a pen in his hand – and he fits this scene so well; like an artist in residence. She takes this moment, when he's unaware of her presence, to study him: the thick dark hair, the smooth, toned skin of his face with just the very suggestion of laughter lines around the side of each eye. To look at him feels so familiar, and maybe it's just the book jackets. But maybe, just maybe, it's that she hasn't stopped thinking about him since they first met - his kind, handsome, at times silly, face imprinted on her brain. Whatever it is, she feels excited to be here, nervous in a good way…

And then she sneezes.

* * *

Kate hastily blows her nose with a tissue and then stuffs it back into the pocket of her denim jacket. But it's too late, Castle heard the sneeze, looked up and now he knows that she's there. No more time for creepy staring.

"Hey." She approaches with a smile.

Castle shoots to his feet, scraping his chair across the bare wooden boards in the process. Several people look over at the noise but all Castle can focus on is the pretty young cop standing in front of him with a backpack over her shoulder, a slightly pink nose, and the prettiest smile on her face.

"Kate. _Hi._" He's practically beaming. In fact, scratch that. The man _is _beaming…at her.

She looks down at the low table positioned between the two armchairs he's managed to commandeer: at the folded newspaper and the open Moleskin notebook full of scribbles and doodles, at the half-empty coffee cup and the plate littered with crumbs. "Have you been waiting long? I'm not late, am I?"

"No. No, I was here _ridiculously_ early matter of fact," he admits, running a hand through his hair, disturbing the glossy perfection.

It's awkward: being face-to-face again. They're both suddenly shy. It'll take time to thaw, Kate realizes; for them to hit the rhythm they achieved on the phone. They have so little shared history up until now – one arrest, a few drinks in a bar, two late night phone calls, and now this. Still, people have been known to fall in love based on less so…

Yeah, maybe just a little too soon to be thinking like that, she admonishes herself, digging her nails into the palm of her hand for a quick sense check.

"How ridiculous?" she asks, arching both eyebrows inquiringly about how early he got here, since it offers her humor to mine at his expense for once.

Castle looks at his watch.

"Come on," Kate cajoles, dumping her heavy bag on the floor by Castle's chair. "I'll bet you know without even looking."

He coughs to clear his throat. "Let's just say my next coffee had better be decaf."

"Are your hands shaking?" she teases, knowing that she'd fail that particular test herself if someone were to hand her a cup and saucer right now. And she can't even blame the over-consumption of coffee the way he can.

"Mm-hmm," he nods, giving her a tentative grin.

Kate laughs. "And is your heart racing?"

"Uh…yup. Definitely," he nods more vigorously, breaking out the beginnings of a sly smile. "But that might have more to do with you than the caffeine."

Kate bites her lip and studies her boots. "Jeez. I walked right into that one," she laughs, covering her face with her hand.

"I see you got us a good table," she remarks in the next instant, switching subjects less deftly than she'd like, but it is what it is.

"Perks of being here half an…hour…early." Castle emits a comical little gasp and then clamps a hand over his mouth, eyes as wide as Frisbees at the embarrassing information he just gave away.

His gaff and follow-up gesture are funny enough that they make for the perfect icebreaker. They both laugh and then Kate shakes her head and sinks down into a worn, slightly saggy armchair covered in faded red velvet. She crosses her long legs and allows herself a moment or two of calm to gather her thoughts.

* * *

They order coffee from the waitress – a decaf for Rick – along with a couple of pastel de nata* at Kate's suggestion.

"I need a sweet treat at the end of a tour. Blood sugar thing," she explains, licking a thick blob of yellow custard off her finger.

"Really? Like…doctor ordered?"

Kate laughs. "No, more like no self-restraint."

"Ah. Rough day? And how's your cold? You sounded pretty choked on the phone last night."

Just that last sentence – _You sounded pretty choked on the phone last night_ – gives them a connection, a sort of history and a shared intimacy all at once that helps to dissolve the last of Kate's nerves.

"In fact, I half expected you to cancel," Castle runs on, while Kate scoops generous amount of custard between her lips, relishing the surge of energy she can feel as the sugar begins to hit her bloodstream.

She frowns, wiping her fingers on a paper serviette. "Why would I cancel? I worked an eight hour 35 minute shift, this place is like two blocks from work, and—"

"Maybe you changed your mind. People do."

He cuts across what she's saying, and though his words are quiet, almost timid, they are out of character enough that they stop her in her tracks. No ego here, no confident swagger or bluster either. Instead of "_people_" Kate hears "_women_" and she wonders why anyone would want to cancel on this man, annoying though he can be at times. There's no way she can't ask a follow-up question.

"What made you think I would change my mind?"

Castle looks regretful, as if he wishes he hadn't said anything. Like a defendant in court he has opened up this line of questioning and so anything Kate asks is fair game. He shrugs and concentrates on digging his teaspoon into the center of the gooey tart, cutting through the slightly scorched, blistered layer of skin on top, then on down into the creamy custard and outward to destroy the puffy, flaky, buttery pastry.

"These are sinful," he mumbles around a mouthful of sweet perfection.

Kate smiles, wide-eyed and so beautiful that it catches him unawares. "_See._ Best way to end a tour."

"I don't know about a tour, but I can't think of many things that couldn't be improved by ending with one of these," he adds, tapping the side of the plate with his spoon.

The words are no sooner out of his mouth than Kate is grinning and her cheeks are turning pink as she imagines the mess a _pastel de nata_ might make of the sheets on a sex-rumpled bed. She looks down at her coffee cup shyly, taking a quick mouthful to hide her grin.

Castle sucks in a breath and his eyes widen as he appears to be reading her thoughts. "You _really_ have a dirty mind, don't you?" he leans in across the side table to whisper.

Kate gives him a direct look. "I work with men all day long. Men who carry guns but behave like little boys most of the time. The humor kind of rubs off after a while," she shrugs. "But I promise I started out pure as the driven snow."

"Are you saying you were…_corrupted_ by the NYPD?" asks Castle, waggling his eyebrows in a comical fashion.

Kate sits up a little straighter in her armchair. "Corrupted is a big word."

"I happen to like big words," parries Rick.

"_Mmm_," hums Kate, licking the last of the custard off her finger.

Castle just stares, made speechless by both the sound she proceeds to make low down in her throat – a kind of husky moan, aided and betted by the deepening effect of her cold – and by the spectacle of watching her lick and then suck sweet custard off the tip of her index finger. Her display is close to obscene for a public setting such as this.

"Are you outraged by my behavior, Mr. Castle?" she teases, realizing what she's just done, though not intentionally.

"There are _kids_ present," Castle leans over to whisper, jerking his head in the direction of two kindergarteners, in for a treat with their East Village mommies after school.

The kids sit swinging their legs from bentwood chairs that won't let their feet reach the floor, while their mothers gossip over grande lattes with whipped cream and dusted coco on top. Both boys are blowing bubbles into tall glasses of chocolate milk through pink and white candy-striped straws, utterly oblivious to Kate's vocal enjoyment of her pastry, or the show she inadvertently put on for the entire café while finishing it.

"No one else seems to mind."

Castle and Kate both look around the room. No one is paying them the slightest bit of attention.

"Did my enjoyment of my pastry annoy you?" she asks outright, knowing full well that annoyance was not the effect her performance had on him at all.

"Annoy—" Castle shakes his head vigorously. "_No._"

"Then what's the problem?" she asks boldly.

He can see that Kate is enjoying this from the glint in her eye.

"Look, you know what. Forget I said anything," he insists, trying to brush it off and move on.

"Oh, no. We're in the process of…getting to know one another. I think it's good that you spoke out. I mean if there are kids around and you think my behavior is…unacceptable, as a father, I should be guided by you. Right?"

Castle narrows his eyes, wondering what she's playing at now.

"I mean you're a successful author, celebrity, pillar of the community, _naked_ police horse rustler…" She breaks off her script to giggle.

"Ah…that again."

"Yes, that. Did you think you were going to get away so easily? That story has miles to run yet. In fact, it's now a permanent part of the legend that is Richard Castle."

"Legend?" he smirks, pleased to see the warm blush return to her cheeks.

"I'm quickly learning that your ego does not need stroking…at all."

"Maybe not my ego, but…"

"Okay, _now_ who's being inappropriate?" hisses Kate, cutting her eyes to the mothers this time.

Castle lets his head drop. "You're right that was—"

"A low…blow?" suggests Kate, staring into his eyes.

"Are you sure there's no more than sugar and eggs in those tarts?"

* * *

Kate laughs and the conversation moves on. Somehow this is easier than she thought it would be – conversing with the mystery novelist both she and her mother have held in such high esteem for years. His presence gives her more than his words did on the page, and the debt she owes him for that…well, it would take a long time to repay. She knows she should begin by sharing these things with him, but she's not ready for him to see her in that light yet – to see the wounded animal that she became after her mother's murder. He looks at her now and he sees – or she imagines that he does – a pretty, plucky, young cop with nice eyes and a good sense of humor. She couldn't bear to watch his fascination turn to pity when he gets a glimpse of who she really is; that way lies ruin and a power-imbalance she knows she doesn't want to deal with. A seven-year age gap when you're both doing well, happy and healthy, is nothing. Change one of you significantly and suddenly that gap becomes a gulf: someone is leaning on somebody else, and pretty soon a whole Jenga tower's worth of emotions comes crashing down around you.

"How's Alexis? Settled any better?" she asks, for want of a better change of subject.

"She's…yeah, she's doing great, thanks. She was up and dressed for school before I even looked in on her this morning."

"Wow."

"She loves school. In fact, you probably won't be surprised to hear that she's more of a grown-up than I am at times."

"Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm. When she was five she told her teacher, Mrs. Edelstein, that, and I quote: "Daddy likes to make blanket forts while I do my homework."

"She what?" Kate sniggers.

"Yeah, and this was in answer to the question: "Which of your parents sits down with you after school to help with your homework"? Let's just say parents' evening was a little embarrassing next time around."

"Oh God," laughs Kate, imagining the scene and the fancy footwork he'd have to do to get out of that one. "But you charmed her, right?"

"Charmed?" asks Castle, after draining his coffee.

"Yes. This…this Mrs. Edelstein. You charmed her?"

Castle seems a little dismayed by the question, but he answers nonetheless. "Believe it or not my charms don't always work on the opposite sex, whether they're twenty-three or fifty-three."

"I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply…"

"What? That I get out of every tight spot I make for myself with a wink and a smile, a joke and a signed copy of my latest novel? No…that would be about accurate," he admits, a little brittlely.

"Rick, I—"

"I'm sorry, Kate," he says, suddenly sounding tired. "I didn't mean to put a damper on things."

"And I didn't mean to be so rude."

"No, you weren't rude. You were just calling it as you see it. I have a lot of work to do on growing up. I'm well aware of that."

"Look, I know I'm just a cop, but you…you seem pretty together to me. Most of the time. You're obviously a great dad to Alexis, and you're parenting all by yourself."

"Thanks," he mutters, giving her a smile he rustles up from somewhere…somewhere a little manufactured.

He looks uncomfortable and crestfallen. The lightness of their earlier banter has gone, and a heavy, truthful mood had descended to make things a little awkward between them. It's a mood they're too new as friends to easily work their way out of. Kate started this with her charm crack. She obviously touched a raw nerve, so she feels a responsibility to make it up to him, to find a way out.

* * *

"We had this funny call at work today." She smiles a little too forcefully, feeling her cheek muscles ache and her skin stretch tight. "Yeah…guy thought he'd had his laptop stolen from his hotel room. Accused this poor Russian maid. _Aй!_" exclaims Kate, shaking her head at the memory of the young woman's gaunt, tear-stained face.

Castle shoots forward in his chair. "Wait. What was— That last thing you said. Was that _Russian?_ Do you speak _Russian?_"

Kate smiles and nods slowly. "Da," she replies, watching his eyes light up, the somber mood instantly forgotten. "_Да, я говорю по-русски._" (Da, ya govoryu po-russki.)

Castle sinks back in his teal velvet armchair looking shocked and then delighted. "My God. You are one of _the_ most interesting, talented women I think I've ever met. Say something else," he urges, almost breathless with anticipation.

Kate knows that she has the upper hand now, not to mention his full attention. The throaty Russian consonants roll off her tongue even more effectively this afternoon with the aid of her cold-afflicted breathing.

"Что вы хотите мне сказать, товарищ?" (Chto vy khotite mne skazat', tovarishch?)

"Wow!"

She laughs at his reaction. "You don't even know what I said."

"I don't care. Insult me, denigrate my reputation, tell me my writing is terrible, worthless, so far removed from reality that no one would ever believe a single word I…"

He stares at Kate whose smile had melted into something close to torment.

"What? Hey, what did I say?" he asks, leaning over to touch her hand.

Kate shakes her head, forcing the truth out of her mouth and back down inside where the words won't be tempted to rush out. She rustles up another smile, brave and artificial. "Nothing. Just…thinking about that poor maid."

"Oh, yeah. So, did you find out who took the guy's laptop?"

"Uh…yep. My partner suggested we search the room properly. Guy was so doped up he did a pathetic job of looking for himself. Jan found the laptop under his bed hidden by all these dirty clothes."

Castle wrinkles his nose. "Not the tidy sort then?"

"Nope. We also found some marijuana packed into the toe of his stinky boot."

"Your job isn't exactly glamorous, is it?"

"Did you ever think it was? I mean before you met me and I gave you chapter and verse?"

Castle tips his head over to one side, considering. "I think we're a long way off chapter and verse. Plenty more ground to cover."

"Had enough?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Good," nods Kate, feeling her heart begin to race again.

Castle leans in closer to speak over the noise of the screaming steam wand on the coffee machine. "Will you have dinner with me, Kate? I know I asked before but—"

"Yes." Her answer is immediate and unequivocal.

"You will?"

"You sound…surprised."

"I guess I am."

"Can I ask you something? Something personal?"

"_Okaaaay_." He looks a little unnerved for once, anticipatory.

"Do women turn you down a lot? Because I really can't imagine that would be the case."

"You'd be surprised then. My track record is…well, it's pretty lousy. Until I met you I had actually sworn off women for the foreseeable. Thought I should concentrate on raising Alexis. She is my number one priority. Some women can't cope with that."

"If you're asking if I'm one of those women? I'm not. I have my own…stuff to deal with."

"Sounds mysterious."

"No, it's…not. It's really not."

"You intrigue the hell out of me, Kate Beckett, if I might just say?"

This is Kate's turn to look slightly uncomfortable. "Well, don't get your hopes too high. I'd hate for you to be disappointed."

"I doubt that's even possible."

* * *

They look at one another, just smiling, until it gets a little awkward when the two small boys jump down off their chairs and begin playing tag around the empty tables in the coffee shop, screaming with excitement, occasionally bumping into furniture, and somewhat destroying the mood.

"Shall we?" suggests Kate, tipping her head towards the door.

Castle reluctantly gathers his things, pays the check, and then they leave the café together.

"That was fun," offers Kate, standing in front of the shiny, well-illuminated window of the _LensCrafters_ store next door.

"Indeed it was. So…dinner. Should I call you to arrange or do you want to just pick a date now?" He's not letting her leave without a commitment one way or the other.

Kate thinks about getting another phone call, ideally when she's tucked up in bed with one of his books and can talk to him in the dark and quiet of her bedroom without any of the awkwardness they faced today. "How about we both consult our calendars and you call me later…once Alexis is in bed?"

It seems she just gave the right answer, if the smile on Castle's face is anything to go by. "Sounds perfect. Think about where you'd like to go. And…yeah, I'll call you later tonight."

He reaches out to touch her elbow and then he steps in closer to kiss her cheek. "You're really something, Kate. Something special. Don't let anyone ever tell you that you're just a cop."

"Thank you. Sometimes that's good to hear," she acknowledges.

Castle doesn't miss the cryptic suggestion beneath these words. This girl fascinates him, she's as multi-layered as an onion, and he intends to peel back every layer until he knows her as well as he possibly can. She's intoxicating – gentle, shy at times, and yet so strong, intelligent and far more cultured than most women he's ever been out with. There's definitely more there, way more than he knows at this point. He suspects she keeps her true personal story buried for reasons he has yet to fathom, but is determined to find out. This girl could never be just a cop. In fact, it's looking like she could never be _"just"_ anything as far as he is concerned. He's getting in deep this time and the truth of that realization doesn't even scare him anymore.

"Talk to you tonight then. Safe home," he says, watching her walk away towards the nearest Subway station, with a rising feeling of loss.

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: * Pastel de nata are also known as Portuguese egg custard tarts. They are to die for!_

_As far as the Russian goes, I've included the cyrillic version followed by the phonetic in brackets, since some of the words will be familiar. The phase Kate said to Castle in the coffee shop was simply: "What do you want me to say, Comrade?" in response to him asking her to say something else in Russian._

_Thank you for all your kind wishes regarding my cold. It's clearing up...slowly. Any errors or typos I blame on this ailment. ;)_


	13. Chapter 13 - The Booty Call

_A/N: Oops! Things took a turn I wasn't expecting. Rating just jumped up to M! _

* * *

_**Chapter 13 – The Booty Call**_

By 9.58pm the silence is a loud as a tornado siren.

She made dinner as soon as she got in. Okay, so maybe she just warmed some leftovers in the microwave until it pinged. But that still counts as cooking when you're 23 years old, living alone, have a killer job and a bad head cold. During dinner she channel surfed, catching the last few seconds of NBC's Nightly News just as Brian Williams and his expressive eyebrows bid the East Coast goodnight.

She took a bath after that, lolling amidst a sea of vanilla-scented foam until the pads of her fingers wrinkled like raisins and the water went cold. She tried reading for a while but failed to find a comfortable position in which to settle, even when she lay down on the bed. Her mind kept wandering off the action, so that the words tripped past her eyes unseen amidst an obscuring haze of busy thought. She realized she'd absorbed none of the last few minutes' worth of reading when she turned to the next page and felt as lost as a mapless stranger in a foreign land, giving up this pointless pursuit with a growl of frustration.

By 9.34pm she was pacing the floor of her bedroom muttering, "Does this kid never sleep?"

By 9.45pm she was sitting cross-legged on her bed with a green face mask on, the cucumber-scented gunk purely a means to distract her as the minutes continued to tick by with no call.

By 9.57pm the mask has set like a rock, and when she leant over the bathroom sink to study her face in the mirror, a simple prod and a grimace had her cheeks cracking like parched earth during a sub-Saharan drought. Great swathes of her skin took on a crackle-glaze appearance which only got worse when she made increasingly comical faces in the mirror, causing the mask to begin to flake and disintegrate, showering her sink with mint green dust.

And then, finally, the phone rings. Of course it does. Right at the moment when she has the faucet running, the water just attaining the perfect lukewarm temperature with which to turn the desiccated layer of fragrant pistachio colored concrete that's currently freezing her face back into a chalky cream consistency, enabling her to finally rinse it all away.

* * *

She runs to the bedroom with a towel around her neck to catch the drips and flakes. Light green paint, or so it appears, rubs off on the edge of the hand towel turning the fine cotton loops into sticky, hard little clumps. "Why oh why?" she chants to herself as she dives on top of her phone in the middle of the bed before the call can end.

"Beckett!" she barks out breathlessly, as she bounces on top of the mattress on her stomach.

There's a long pause and then the voice on the other end – she knows it's him from the breathing alone, and how weird is that? – asks tentatively, "Is this a bad time?"

"Uh…no. No, I'm sorry you just caught me—"

_Doing what, exactly?_ She's out of breath, her voice sounds weird from lying on her front, she's pretty sure he can probably hear the rustle of her bed linen over the phone line. _Crap! _

This is embarrassing.

"Kate? What are you…are you sure this is okay? I haven't called too late?" He sounds bemused.

"No, I was just…I was…"

"Are you alone?" Now he sounds jealous, she realizes with something of a thrill.

"Of course I'm _alone_," she insists, or is it more like reassures.

She can hear him grinning now. "You sound a little out of breath, Kate. What exactly _were_ you doing?" he teases, with a devilish amusement to his voice.

She buries her burning face in the towel, which is rapidly turning solid. Oh, God! He thinks she was doing _that._

There's a long silence while she debates how honest to be. It's just a face mask, no big crime in that. But then she doesn't want to come across as too girly, or even worse: obsessed with her appearance. But then what he actually thinks she was doing – while she waited for him to call no less – is even more embarrassing.

Honesty wins over vanity (and Castle's fantasy) in the end. "I'm wearing a face mask," she admits with a sigh.

His answer is not at all what she expects.

"Cool! What kind? I have Batman, Darth Vader, Captain America, _oh_ and Alexis has this really neat Supergirl ma—"

"Cucumber," she replies po-faced, mostly because she can hardly _move_ her face.

He sounds puzzled. "Cucumber? Is that from—"

"It's from CVS," Kate interjects, getting a little exasperated at this awkward, confused exchange. She _so_ wanted to enjoy this phone call and now they're off on the wrong foot, talking at cross-purposes and…

And then Castle starts laughing. He _actually_ starts laughing.

"You mean the green gooey kind my mother uses, don't you?" he clarifies, and she can hear the amused embarrassment in his voice. "I'm an idiot."

"And apparently I'm a lot like your mother. Shall we start again?"

Castle chuckles. "Good idea. Hi, I'm Rick. You must be Kate."

"Actually, could I maybe wash this gunk off before my face sets in this expression forever, and then I'll call you back?"

"Promise?"

"What, that I'll call back? Yes," she laughs, sending a shower of mint chip colored dust onto her pillow.

"Okay, go. Make yourself even prettier."

Kate blushes at the compliment, feeling her cheeks begin to get sticky again as she starts to perspire beneath the mask.

"Call you in five," she says quietly, as if they do this every night and have been for years.

If only.

"I'll be here."

His voice is warm and inviting, and it sends a shiver of anticipation through her.

"Better be," quips Kate, feeling brave at this distance.

"Counting the seconds," he jokes. "Don't stand me up."

"You can talk. It's well after ten already. Isn't this a school night?"

Her comment more of less reveals her hand – how earnestly she'd been awaiting his call tonight - and she rolls her eyes at her own pathetically girly behavior.

But Castle doesn't tease her like she expects him too. His apology is completely genuine and heartfelt. "Yeah, look, I'm sorry about that. Alexis went down at eight but then my mother came home and the drama—"

"Wait! Hold up. You…you _live_ with your _mother_?"

Castle coughs. Evidently this is a something of an awkward subject, if the pause that halts the flow of conversation is any indication.

"It's…complicated," he eventually replies.

"Complicated? Complicated as in…you can't answer yes or no _because_…you're not sure or…or…"

"Wash your face and call me back. I'm not trying to hide anything, I promise. We can talk about it then."

He sounds so sensible and grown-up, not at all like the mouthy, naked, drunk guy she first came across in the park, sitting astride a police horse. And it turns out adult Rick is even more of a turn-on than crazy, naked Rick. Who'd have thought?

Kate pauses before answering. Seems she's not the only one with issues or secrets or whatever the hell this is. He's gone easy on her so far. She should do the same for him. "Okay," she concedes, waiting to hear if he'll say anything else. When he doesn't she simply adds, "Talk in five."

* * *

Five minutes runs closer to nine when she decides to open a bottle of wine, get ready for bed (naked) and slide beneath the sheets before dialing his number, all once her face is squeaky clean and moisturized. She feels naughty and indulgent, but also safe doing this when she can choose how of much of herself to reveal. The anonymity of the phone call is freeing and oddly erotic, since she knows that there's a definite spark between them, and he's made no attempt to hide how attracted he is to her. She's been lonely for a long time – mostly because she has chosen to isolate herself from the opposite sex. Castle makes her feel a lot less lonely and a lot more connected to life outside of her job, even if he kind of forced his way into this position in the beginning.

He sounds amused and warmly familiar when he answers on the first ring. "I was beginning to think you were gonna stand me up."

Kate smiles to herself. If only he could see her right now. "Uh…nope. Definitely not standing."

The comical gasp on the other end spreads her grin even wider and emboldens her even further. The half glass of wine she swallowed in the kitchen before topping her glass off doesn't hurt either.

"Are you…are you in _bed?_ Are you calling me from your bedroom, Officer Beckett?" he kind of squeaks.

"It wouldn't be the first time," she adds to apparent devastating impact.

He's silent for a beat or two as his brain ticks over. "You…you mean the first time we talked on the phone you were…"

"Uh-huh."

"_Naked?_"

"Not the first time."

"Oh my God. So that means…"

"And I have wine," she adds, with a wicked grin.

"Wait, are you _drunk?_"

"No! I just opened a bottle, like right now. First couple of sips, I promise," she fibs, crossing her fingers on top of the covers.

His brain takes off on a different, more suspicious tack.

"Did you need Dutch courage to call me back?"

"We were going to talk about your mother. I thought I might need some help." She giggles after she says this, and she hears Castle's breathing change, as if he's standing up and then maybe walking around. "Are you going somewhere?"

"They say it's dangerous to drink alone. A slippery slope," he adds, with prescience he could never begin to guess at. "So I'm going to join you."

"Name your poison," replies Kate, biting the inside of her cheek.

"What are you having?"

"Just what was in my fridge. Glass of chardonnay."

"Mm, a white wine girl."

"What about you?"

"I'm more of a red wine guy."

"I'm an either or, just for future reference," she tells him boldly.

"Reference so filed, somewhere safe. I will make sure to have both in stock next time you visit."

Kate can feel her heart thudding beneath the covers. Her face is hot and her smile is wide, her pulse thrashing with the excitement and novelty of flirting again. She takes another sip of wine, realizing that Dutch courage might be exactly what this is.

"Putting the phone down for a second while I pour. Talk amongst yourselves," Castle jokes, making Kate grin again and then shake her head at his silliness.

She takes this quiet moment to readjust her pillows and tug the comforter up to chest level, revelling in the sensual caress of the warm cotton sheet brushing over her naked skin. She feels dangerous tonight: relaxed after her bath, loose with the slow burn of alcohol, both a little turned on and out of control talking to him like this; safe in the knowledge that she can wind things down as well as up whenever she likes.

* * *

His voice or something about the acoustics sounds different when he comes back on the line a minute or so later. "Okay, that's me back," he announces a little breathlessly. "Sorry about the break in transmission. Decided to follow your lead and get into bed. How naughty does this feel?" he asks gleefully, his voice wobbling as if he's still bouncing around on the mattress to get comfortable.

"Naughty?" asks Kate, the word coming out sounding rather vampish with the aid of the husky quality provided by her cold.

"Yeah, drinking wine in bed on a school night…_naked_."

"You're—"

"I said I would keep you company, didn't I? Seemed rude not to follow your lead."

"I never actually said I was naked," Kate argues, half-heartedly at best, while she fights a grin.

"You never said you weren't."

"True."

"You want me to move on? Talk about something a little…safer?"

"Why don't we talk about your mom?" challenges Kate.

Castle groans. "Yeah, that did the trick. Don't think I've had enough wine to get into that issue."

"Look, I'm not prying. Your mom is your business," she says, preparing to back off.

"Hmm, seems that way at times."

"Tricky situation?"

"Just a little. Her ex-husband ripped her off, left her practically penniless. I couldn't see her out on the street so she moved in with Alexis and me. To be honest, most of the time it works out pretty well for me. Alexis loves having her grandmother around and I have free babysitting on tap whenever I need it."

"Sounds like you guys have things well worked out."

"Except for the occasional privacy issue. My mother's pretty boundaryless when it comes to barging into rooms without knocking and offering advice when it hasn't been solicited."

"Ouch," winces Kate, imagining how that would drive her nuts since she values her own privacy so highly.

"Yeah. What about you? Your folks hands-on or hands-off?"

Kate's breath catches in her throat. She feels cornered, even though she should have seen this question coming a mile off. In fact, she opened up the topic, so it's only natural that he should ask. But she's hung up on protecting the image this man has of her so far. She's not ready to open up that messy box of issues in front of him. Not ready by a long way.

"Would you mind if we talked about something else?"

Castle seems surprised enough by this request that it takes him a second or two to answer. "You…you want to change the subject? That question makes you uncomfortable?"

"Dinner. We were going to make plans," she says brightly, throwing him a big old, distracting bone, she hopes.

Kate cringes at how this comes across and at the lengthy silence that follows her forced deflection.

"I just…can we save the whole family thing for another time?" she asks, feeling bad about not being as open with the writer as he is prepared to be with her. But then it was abundantly clear from the start that he's an over-sharer (something he evidently gets from his mother) while she likes to remain a closed book. Something of a mystery novel at that, which is highly ironic, given to whom she's speaking.

"Sure," he replies, though there's an evident strain in his voice, some hurt maybe at not being trusted with any details of her private life. But he's gracious and kind about it, letting her off the hook. "Sure, we can talk about that. Did you think about where you want to go?"

She hasn't, not really. She's thought about what it will mean to go out to dinner with him: how this will definitely constitute a date, whether she wants to call it that or not. She's also thought about some of the practicalities – do they meet at the restaurant or does he pick her up, what will she wear, small talk, hand holding, a kiss goodnight or come up for coffee. She's let her mind meander through all of these issues and possibilities, and yet she neglected to think of a venue.

"I…no, actually. Did you have someplace in mind?"

"Let's see. What kind of food do you like?"

"Pretty much anything. Except pizza."

There's another stunned silence.

"Rick?"

"You don't like pizza?" asks a confused and wounded voice.

"Did you just lose interest?" laughs Kate.

"I'm serious. You don't like _pizza_?" he repeats plaintively.

"And so am I. Is that a deal breaker?"

"I didn't know we were in negotiation." His tone is suddenly much more flirtatious.

"We're both in bed. _Naked_, apparently. We're drinking wine while having a late night phone conversation. Where I come from that kind of means we're…in negotiation, for want of a better expression."

"And where _does_ little Kate Beckett come from? Or is that…out of bounds too?" He doesn't mean to be facetious. She knows that. But it does come across as a bit of a dig.

"I was born and raised in the city."

When she doesn't add anything more specific by way of neighborhood, street names or zip code, Castle takes it as a cue to move on.

"Right, so back to Pizzagate."

Kate lets her breath go, relieved he's got the message.

"I eat pizza, okay. In fact, I happen to _love_ pizza. But in my job, grabbing a slice when you're out on patrol late at night tends to be one of the easiest food options."

"So when you're off duty you don't want to look at pizza?"

"Pretty much."

"No, I get it. That's fine. Plenty of other options we can work with."

"Yeah, as I said, I'll pretty much eat anything."

"Do you want me to choose somewhere? Keep it a surprise?"

Kate feels a little giddy, a thrill racing through her. It's been a long time since a man offered to do something this nice for her – plan a meal in a restaurant and make it a surprise.

"That would be…yes, that would be nice."

"You sure? You trust me with this?"

She laughs. "It's just dinner. How bad can it be?"

"You don't read Page Six much, do you?" chuckles Castle.

She slaps a hand to her forehead. "Oh, God. No, nothing too…too fancy or…or too showy," she amends, kicking herself for not tightening the brief before she gave him free reign.

"Wishing you hadn't given me carte blanche already?"

"I wasn't aware that I had."

"You said you trusted me, Kate."

His voice is so intimate; the words pitched low, right in her ear. She feels her body shiver and her nipples tighten beneath the softness of the sheets. Goosebumps rise on her skin despite the warmth of her bedroom. She lets one hand fall onto her bare thigh beneath the covers and begins idly caressing her skin with light strokes of her fingertips.

"_Do you_…trust me?" he asks once more, his tone laden with all sorts of new implications.

And suddenly the word _trust _has taken on a whole deeper meaning.

"I…" She swallows and then downs a mouthful of wine to chase away her nerves. "I trust you, yes," she whispers, breathily.

"Good. That's good," he barely breathes back. "Then it's settled. I'll come by and pick you up before dinner."

She squeezes her eyebrows together to concentrate. "Can you keep it…I mean can we…somewhere low key would be good. Casual," she adds, thinking about the limited range of clothing in her closet and the array of photos she has already seen of him squiring confident, elegant, immaculately dressed women, always a few years older than her, to fancy restaurants and charity galas over the years.

"Low key suits me too," he replies generously, his voice giving her confidence that everything will work out fine.

"Great," she sighs, succumbing to a yawn.

* * *

There's a pause after she yawns in which she hears him take a drink before he speaks again.

"You sound sleepy, Kate. Are you sleepy?" he asks, his deep, sexy baritone lulling her even closer to relaxed catatonia.

Her hand stills at the top of her thigh, near her hip. The pulse of heat between her legs is throbbing now with the effect of his seductive voice on her body: the pull and urge of the low, stirring, intimate register. She can feel the phone call coming to a natural conclusion already, but she's surprised to find that she really isn't ready for it to end just yet.

She manages to hum some non-committal sound, denying her sleepiness without actually denying it.

"I suppose we need to pick a date for this…date," Castle points out, breaking into her more libidinous thoughts.

"Yes. Right. My shift pattern changes to nights next week," she manages to pull it together enough to remember.

"Oh," murmurs Castle, his tone laden with doom and disappointment.

"But I have two days off in between. Would Saturday or Sunday be too soon for you?"

"Not at all," he replies, his voice brightening with happy enthusiasm. "Let me check with my mother and all being well, shall we aim for Saturday?"

Saturday night is a definite date night. There is no way around calling this anything but a date if they settle on a Saturday. But what the hell. There are definitely worse things in life, lots of worse things, than admitting you're going out on a date with Richard Castle.

"Saturday would be great," she agrees, succumbing to another lazy yawn that begs an accompanying stretch.

She sinks further back into her pillows, letting her legs fall apart, her left knee spread wide.

She traces her fingers down along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, lightly raking the surface with her short nails from knee to groin. It's a long time since she's been with anyone, and she misses the basic sensual, human pleasure of being touched. These late night calls with Rick are the closest she's come to spending time alone in bed with a man in months. The intimacy, the flirtation and the safety of her own bedroom are firing her imagination and her libido.

* * *

"Kate?"

She startles when she hears Castle whisper her name into her ear.

"Yes?" she gasps, stroking the dip below her hipbone with her edge of her thumb in a strumming motion.

"Are you…" He stops short of saying what they both know is on his mind.

She gives him a minute to decide whether to ask again or let the subject drop.

"I think," she whispers, breathing more heavily as she skims her hand across the flat of her abdomen, making her muscles jump.

"Yeah?" he whispers back, his own breath beginning to speed up.

"I think we're both…oh, God," she rasps, finally dragging her fingers through her own wet heat, surprised by how turned on she is with so little help or suggestion. "On the same page."

"You are so fucking hot," Castle blurts out, shocking them both.

There's a moment of heavy, awkward silence before Kate speaks, freeing them both from the burden of surprise.

"Say that again," she pants, coasting her fingers back and forth through her swollen, slick lips before finally pushing two fingers inside.

"Sexy. You're _so_ sexy, Kate. I wish I could see you right now…I wish...I wish I could touch you…I—"

"_Oh, jeez!_" she shudders, so close to ecstasy already, gently rocking her pelvis against her own hand.

"That's it. Good girl. Come on, that's it. Touch yourself for me, Kate," he urges, cheering her on.

Suddenly their phone call has turned into phone sex before she knows what's happening. Dinner on Saturday won't be awkward at all after tonight. No siree. She needs to ensure she's not the only one with something to blush over...and fast.

"Only if you do too," she insists, letting her willful, wild side loose for what seems like the first time since college.

"Just putting my wine aside," he informs her, breaking off into silence for a heated moment while she idly circles her clitoris with the flat of her thumb, keeping her desire in check until he can catch up with her.

"Okay, I'm here," he tells her, his voice vibrating with the thrill of his own excitement.

"Are you hard?" asks Kate, withdrawing her own fingers from inside her and lazily stroking them between her legs once more, building up the friction pass by pass.

"Rock hard," he confirms, awaiting her instructions.

She fights a giggle, because of course Richard Castle would have to say he was rock hard. A simple _yes_ would be too mundane, too succinct and by no means colorful enough.

"Okay, let's do it together."

"You want me to touch myself?" he pushes, looking for more detailed instructions from her.

"Yes," breathes Kate, speeding up her own movements.

"Are you close?" he asks, and she can already hear the rhythmic slap of his hand against his own thigh now, the raw significance behind the noise and the movement painting vivid, mental pictures that are making her even hornier.

"Yes," she pants, her chest heaving with the effort of holding back. "So close."

"I'd ask what you're wearing right now, but I think we already established that," he jokes, following the words with a guttural grunt that tells her he's not too far behind her. "Tell me anyway."

"Nothing. I'm wearing nothing. I've got my legs spread wide across the bed, my nipples are…_so_ hard, and now I'm sliding two fingers deep insi—"

"Holy shit, Kate!" exclaims Castle, before the line appears to go dead.

* * *

When she hears the suppressed groan as he comes just seconds later, it tips her over the edge in rapid pursuit. Her body clenches around her hand, muscles winking and throbbing against her slippery fingers as they spasm through her protracted release.

She's lying in an exhausted, sated, heavy-breathing heap when she finally hears him clear his throat down the phone.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to do that tonight."

Kate laughs, just the happy side of mortified.

"At least not _with_ you," he qualifies, making her blush, though why she's blushing after they just masturbated for one another is anyone's guess.

"You okay?" he asks, when Kate doesn't say anything.

"Yeah. You?" she replies reflexively, while smiling shyly into the phone.

"Never better…once my heart rate slows back down."

Kate hums in pleasure as she trails her fingers one last time through her over-sensitive folds, relishing the dying shivers of her orgasm as she stretches her body against the sheets, arching her spine up off the mattress.

"They say sex is good for the immune system. Your cold should be cleared up in no time."

"In time for Saturday night, I hope," she adds boldly, almost laughing out loud when she hears Castle gulp on the other end.

"_So_…this was—"

"Unusual for me," Kate fills in while Castle blunders around for something to say.

"_Yeah?_ You mean you don't usually have phone sex with a guy you just arrested and haven't even been on a date with yet?"

They both dissolve into a fit of nervous, slightly self-conscious giggles at this succinct summation of their situation.

"Definitely a first," Kate agrees, while Castle wonders if there's any way he can persuade this girl to be his last.

He's falling for her – for the intelligent lightness that he can see on the surface and for the painful darkness he knows she's desperately trying to keep hidden from him. Normally a mystery like this would drive him nuts until he could either solve it or walk away. But somehow with her he finds he doesn't mind. He's found the patience from somewhere to wait her out, because as sappy as it sounds, he thinks she's worth it; she's more than worth his time.

* * *

"You think you could sleep now?" he asks her, sounding as if he just rolled over in bed from the whisper of the sheets across his skin, maybe the scruff on his jaw brushing the pillowcase, Kate imagines.

"You want to tell me a bedtime story?" she teases, in for a nickel.

"You want me to?" He sounds surprised, and she can hear him grin at the idea.

"Once upon a time…go on," she urges gently.

"Okay, there was a beautiful cop named Kate. But Kate ate so much pizza that one day—"

She starts to giggle. "No, stop. Something different. Something…less real."

"You want less real? Hmm. Okay, how about this. Once upon a time, there was a guy called Rick. Now Rick was a ruggedly handsome chap. But he was also rather sad and lonely, maybe even a little depressed."

"Still too real," Kate interjects, rolling her eyes.

"Still too real?" repeats Castle, sniggering down the line.

"Come on. You're the fiction writer, tell me a _story_," she insists.

Castle clears his throat. "A man and a woman planned on going on a date. This was their first date ever, so it was kind of important. The man picked the restaurant, then he bought some pretty flowers and he showed up at the woman's apartment just a little early to pick her up. When the lady opened the door, the man gasped at the sight before him. There, in all her glory, stood the tallest, willowiest, most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. They never actually made it to dinner, but they did live happily ever after. The end."

Kate sighs. "That's sweet. But also kind of lame."

"Why is it lame?"

"The ending was too...predictable," she risks, wondering if he's already anticipating a happy ending for them.

"Predictable, huh? You don't like happy endings?"

"I like to be surprised."

"So…use your imagination. After tonight's little escapade, I know you have one."

Kate covers her face with her hand. "Shut up. I don't think we should talk about that."

"What, not _ever?_"

"Not now and definitely not at dinner either."

"What will we talk about then?"

"Your mother. I don't care," laughs Kate. "Just not that," she repeats, burying her face in a pillow.

"Okay. Promise I'll be good. Show up at your door like the anonymous, nameless, faceless gentleman in my lame bedtime story. Will that be okay with you?"

"No flowers," mutters Kate, shaking her head.

"Is this another condition? Like nowhere fancy or…what was it? Showy?"

"Yes. It's a rule."

"You're getting silly now. I think we need to sleep."

"Are you sending me to bed for being naughty?"

"I think it's a little late for that. You sent yourself to bed and then lured me after you."

"I lured you? I _lured_ you?" Kate laughs sleepily. "Did you go against your will?"

"Actually, it was a pleasure being lured by you, Officer Beckett. But then being arrested by you turned out to be a pleasure too, so…"

"Saturday is two days away. Think you can stay out of trouble until then?" she asks, wondering how slowly the next two days will pass.

"Promise I'll try."

* * *

The conversation slows, and they both have to fight the pull of sleep to keep talking.

"So…you'll let me know what time you're going to pick me up?"

"How about I text you tomorrow once I make a reservation?"

"Great. You already know where I live. And how _is_ that _exactly_? I forgot to ask."

"I know a guy."

"Oh, God. Please tell me the Mayor doesn't know my home address."

Castle laughs in surprise. "I'm sure the Mayor could find out your address if he wanted to, but no. I used one of my…_other_ sources."

"Your _other _sources? Like a C.I.?"

"Please don't make me explain any more. It sounds kinda creepy when you make me say it out loud."

"It _is_ kind of creepy."

"I don't know your exact apartment number, if that helps any."

"It's on my mailbox. You know, the mailbox you tied a bunch of balloons to. And it's also on my front door. The front door you left a bouquet of freesias outside."

"_Oh_."

"Yes, oh."

"I haven't been inside, if that's any consolation."

"Well, play your cards right and maybe…" Kate chews her lip, her breath held, teetering as if she's about to take make her first solo parachute jump.

"Maybe?" probes Castle.

"Maybe we can do something to remedy that."

He's so warm and sincere when he responds, removing any anxiety she might have had that he was trying to push her. "I would really like that, Kate. But no pressure, okay? I know how much you value your privacy. So…let's just take things one step at a time."

"Okay. We can do that."

"Right, well, much as I don't want tonight to end, I have a six-year-old to get to school in the morning, and you have work, so…"

"We should say goodnight," Kate agrees, feeling her heart sink.

"I had a really great time today. First the coffee shop and then…yeah," he breaks off, sounding amused and a little self-conscious.

"Yeah, that," agrees Kate, laughing quietly.

"I hope you had a good time too." He sounds a little unsure, which is untypical of him.

"I really did. Best first time with a face mask ever."

"Yeah, let's blame it on the sexy green goo. Not the wine. No way was the wine responsible."

"I'm…you're easy to talk to. I've missed this," she admits, giving away more than she ever intended to this early on.

"What have you missed?" Castle probes, his question asked with a level of compassion she would never have believed him capable of when she first met him.

"This. Just...talking, hanging out, chatting about nothing important, laughing. And the sex didn't hurt either."

"Sex never hurts. Actually, if you're doing it wrong that's not quite true, but—"

"Rick!" she groans, cringing.

"Sorry. Got a little carried away there. Look, I get your point. I miss it too. It's been a long time for me as well, if we're laying our souls bare."

"That's not what Page Six says." She's revealing more and more of herself than she could ever have imagined tonight.

"Don't believe everything you read in the papers, Kate. Since Meredith left I've been…while not exactly a monk, pretty damn close."

He wants to ask what her excuse is, but he knows she won't tell him yet, so he leaves that question for another day.

"That's sad. We're both kind of sad, don't you think?"

"As long as we can be sad together I don't mind."

"Me neither."

"Glad that's settled. Now…time to sleep, young lady."

"Text me tomorrow?"

"Promise. Until tomorrow, Miss Beckett."

"Sweet dreams, Mr. Castle."

"Count on it. You too."

And with that the call ends, leaving them both in vastly different places than when it began just an hour and a half ago.

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: I did warn you this AU was like speed-dating so... :)_


	14. Chapter 14 - The Ex Effect

_A/N: Thank you for the love and the giggles following the last chapter. Glad I can still surprise some people. ;)_

* * *

**_Chapter 14 – The Ex Effect_**

Over the course of the next couple of days Kate Beckett learns several things about herself: things that she hadn't quite noticed or properly identified before, as well as several completely new things that only rise to the surface as a result of current circumstances in her life.

A good "_for example"_ might be that _sexting_ \- although it would be another couple of years before this word would enter into global lexicon - was something she was rather good at. For now she simply traded flirtatious, suggestive text messages back and forth with a certain writer without having to put any label on it at all beyond good, harmless fun.

Another thing she would learn was that more people took a genuine interest in her life and cared about her future than she imagined, even when she thought she was being invisible – capable, competent, reliable and self-aware, yes – but invisible. Only she didn't blend in as much as she thought she did, and it turned out that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

* * *

"Him again?" nods Jurkowski Friday lunchtime, as they sit parked outside a Korean nail bar in Alphabet City, eating hot pastrami heros off wax paper wrappers, fiddling with their cell phones while trying to ignore the noxious fumes of acetone and acrylic nail glue wafting in through the open windows of their Crown Vic.

"Him who?" asks Kate, feigning innocence as she taps out a reply to Castle's latest text message which reads: _What are you wearing? ;)_

She smiles to herself without thinking to hide it from Jurkowski as she types back: _A little black number. You?_

"Give it up, Beckett. You grin like a loon every time your phone chirps. I haven't seen you this happy in like…_forever_."

"Shut up. I'm a happy person," she insists, shielding the screen of her phone from prying eyes as she nibbles on a slice of dill pickle.

Jan snorts and Kate throws him a glare. "So I don't wear my heart on my sleeve like you or…or wander around humming _"Whistle While You Work"_. Doesn't make me an unhappy person."

Jan ignores her jibe, too good-natured and mature to feel slighted. "Things are going well with the writer then?"

"Would you—" she fumes, looking over to find Jan staring out of the window at a little kid who's busy trying to prize a quarter off the ground that some joker has glued to the sidewalk with gum.

"What?" he murmurs, barely glancing at her before returning to study the three year old, who now has dirty nails when he triumphantly holds up the sticky coin to show his mother.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"No. No, if you have an issue you'd like to discuss, by all means share it with the class, Beckett. I insist. Good partner relations and all that."

"Good— Okay, how about you just _stay_ out of my private life?" she asks politely.

"Done," Jan replies instantly, surprising Kate, who expects to have more of a battle on her hands.

She's about to thank him when he adds, "I'm just glad you actually _have_ a private life for me to stay out of. For a while there I thought I'd been partnered with a nun. No offense."

"None…taken."

Oh, God. Is that how people in the squad see her: as some prudish celibate?

"Halliday know about your date?" Jan asks, catching her off guard, since she's still reeling from his last remark.

"_No!_ How do _you_ know about my—"

"Ha! Gotcha!" he laughs, slapping the dash. "About damn time too. Wait 'til I tell Elizabeth. She'll be thrilled."

Kate frowns, so many pieces of information flying at her all in one go. "You…do you tell your wife _everything?_"

"Pretty much."

"You tell her what you ate for lunch, dinner, how many cups of coffee you drank?"

"Mm-hmm."

"What about our tour? She get to hear about that too? Collars, tickets, every little stop and frisk?"

"Ya-huh," he drawls, mindlessly staring out the window again, watching a bodega owner this time, as the man floods the gutter with water and soggy, dark leaves from a huge flower container.

"Doesn't that get _really_ boring? You reliving your entire day, Elizabeth having to listen to every dull little minute?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"On how you tell the story."

Kate's mind immediately flits to Castle's enquiring face at the word _story_. There's another guy who's always hunting down every last little detail, positively wringing them out of every situation he finds himself in. "What story?"

"The story of your day. See, Elizabeth _likes_ to hear detail. She wants to know peoples' names, what they were wearing, what I found in a teenager's pockets when I patted him down, what flavor donut you got on break this morning, where we stopped for lunch and who paid. Yada yada. She likes to hear all of it."

Kate frowns, wrinkling her nose. "Why?"

"I think she likes to hear the sound of my voice, since we usually catch up on our days after we've put the kids to bed."

"You have an okay voice, Jan, but a blow-by-blow? Of _this_?" asks Kate, indicating the street around them with a sweep of her hand, where life carries on without drama or incident ninety percent of the time.

"Also…also…I think it makes everything less scary for her too, if she knows what I'm doing. And that you're here doing it with me," he adds, giving her a sidelong glance.

Kate is kind of touched by that: that Jan's wife's way of controlling the uncontrollable is by facing her fears head on, instead of burying her head in the sand the way a lot of police spouses do. She's also touched to hear that the woman values her place by Jan's side, backing him up in case of actual difficulty that goes beyond which flavor of ice cream to choose on a hot day.

* * *

"She loved the story about the naked writer on horseback. A genuine celebrity for once. _Hoowee!_ So when I tell her you guys are dating…"

Kate shifts uncomfortably in her seat, balling up the rest of her sandwich and tucking it back into the greasy paper bag. "We…look, we're not really dating."

"You've been out with the guy a couple of times now right?"

"We had a beer and we went out for coffee. _Once._ No big deal."

"Beckett, you're never off your cell the last few days. And what about all the special deliveries at work, huh?"

"He stopped those ages ago."

"Did you ask him to?"

"Yes."

"_See._ There you go. If you hadn't of stopped him that flood of gifts would have kept on comin'."

Kate shrugs, knowing he has a point. Castle's campaign to win her over would have continued unrelenting unless she'd stepped in. "What's your point?"

"My point? My point is…the guy is _keen._ When's the last time someone took this much of an interest in you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Kate asks, rather defensively.

"Just sayin'. You could do a whole lot worse than dating this guy. So…_you know_."

"No, I don't know."

"Just…don't blow it."

"Blow it? How exactly would I blow it?"

Jan sighs, and she can see him debate whether or not to say what's on his mind. In the end, honesty wins over good sense. "You…you have this habit of pushing people away." He holds up a hand to keep her quiet before she can jump in and refute what he just said, as he can see she's about to. "Now I understand you like your privacy. Who doesn't? But we've been partners for over nine months now and I still know diddly-squat about you."

"Nothing to tell."

"Now I know that ain't true. But I'm a nice guy, so I'm gonna let that little fib slide even though I'd kick my kids' butts for telling trumped-up stories like you just did."

"This job takes up all of my time and—"

"Well, then you're doing it wrong," interrupts Jan.

Kate looks startled by her partner's admonishment. He's not usually so outspoken when it comes to anything remotely non-job related.

When he carries on, his expression is earnest, as if he _really_ wants her to listen to him and take his message on board. "I have a family, Beckett. A wife, two kids. I coach my daughter's Pee Wee soccer team on Sundays. I collect Civil War medals that I find at flea markets and swap meets, and I'm a volunteer cook at a Polish nursing home once a month. My job is full on, but so is my life."

Kate is speechless.

"Now, I'm not saying these things to make you feel bad. Each to their own, I say. You wanna clock off at the end of the week, go home, do your laundry and then never leave your apartment for the rest of the weekend, be my guest. But I'd hate to see you make your life be just about the job. Sure, you're gonna make a great detective one day. I'd bet my pension on that. But you know how little it takes for all of that to be gone in the blink of an eye. You get injured on the job, and, if you're lucky you're behind a desk for the rest of your career. If not…what exactly was it all for?"

"I hear you," mumbles Kate, instantly thinking of her own mother: of all the hours she put in as a lawyer, devoted to helping other people, while she and her father ate alone, went on cinema trips by themselves, even put up their Christmas tree without her one year. And for what? So that she could end up dead in an alley?

"Just give the guy a chance. I know he acted like a Class A jerk in the beginning, but sometimes people grow on you if you let them. We have this saying in Poland: _Okazja na nikogo nie czeka_. It means opportunity waits for no man. Don't let this chance to have a little fun in your life slip through your fingers, Beckett."

Kate can feel a heat rising in her cheeks, and she reaches out to wind her window down a little further. After their sexual encounter in bed the other night, albeit over the phone, he's definitely growing on her. No question about that. As to whether she has room for a relationship in her life – especially with a man who has a child and his mother in tow – well, that's a question for another day. For now, she's simply looking forward to Saturday, to their dinner date, and whatever fun that might bring.

* * *

She's home cleaning her kitchen later that evening when her cell phone rings.

"Hey." She smiles without thinking as soon as she answers, nerves like fireflies alighting in her stomach.

"Hey, yourself. What you up to? This a good time?"

"Uh…yeah," she replies, glancing around her small apartment at the disarray of pots and pans stacked on her counter top, at the sponge mop and bucket resting in the corner and the row of sparkling glasses sitting upside down drying on her drainer.

He might be coming _into_ her apartment tomorrow night for the very first time, and, yeah, she might be going a little overboard preparing, considering he's not going to be inspecting the state of her floor or the inside of her cabinets if she does decide to allow him over the threshold. But if nothing else, the task is keeping her mind occupied, because after her chat with Jan and her growing anxiety about the date, she needs something to distract her.

"I was just…cleaning," she admits, tossing a ball of used paper towel into the open maw of the trashcan. The paper hits the rim and bounces in on the back of a perfect jump shot from Kate.

The word _cleaning_ is out there before she stops to consider that Richard Castle is no slouch in the motive department. He'll have her figured out before she can say—

"Got visitors coming over, Beckett?" he asks slyly. She can _hear_ him grinning down the phone line.

_Fuck! _

"No," she answers airily, "just thought I'd do a little spring cleaning while I have some free time."

"You know you're a terrible liar," Castle tells her, eliciting a sharp intake of breath.

"And you're far too presumptuous."

"Maybe, but I know one thing," he says, rather smugly.

"Should I even ask? This is a trap, isn't it?"

"If you let me into your apartment tomorrow night, I won't be checking the cleanliness of any surfaces…except maybe one."

Kate's eyes grow large and she blushes furiously. Total trap. "That's—"

"Too much?" he chuckles.

"A little…for six-thirty," she reminds him, after checking her watch. "Why are you calling so early anyway? Shouldn't you be burning Tater Tots right now or checking homework?"

Castle laughs at her parental characterization. "Actually, I usually make dinner for Alexis from scratch. But tonight she's eating at a friend's house. I'm picking her up at 7.30pm."

"So you were at a loose end and you thought you'd…harass me?"

"_Harass?_"

Kate laughs. "Okay, badger then. Interrupt, pester, plague, torment, hound…eh…_exasperate_, annoy..."

"You have _the _sexiest vocabulary, you know that?"

"You sure it wasn't just my vocabulary you thought was sexy the other night?"

He's clearly grinning again when he says, "I thought were weren't going to talk about that."

"You're right. We're not."

"So why are you…"

"Forget I said anything. Let's keep it PG."

"Me and my big mouth."

"I thought we said we'd keep it PG."

"Kate Beckett!" exclaims Rick.

Kate laughs at Castle's show of being outraged. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

"Do you promise to be this wild tomorrow night?"

"I don't even know what your plans are yet. Any idea what time you're coming over to pick me up? You were supposed to text me that information yesterday, remember?"

"I got distracted, okay. If there isn't already a game called Words with Friends*, someone should invent one."

"Better make that _Dirty_ Words with Friends."

"Ah, the deluxe edition," chuckles Castle, laughing even harder when Kate joins in. "So, tomorrow night. I can't believe it's tomorrow night!" he exclaims, sounding a little over-excited.

Kate rolls her eyes. "Steady on there, cowboy. We said low-key dinner. We're not painting the town red…or any other color for that matter."

"Yes. Sorry," he coughs. "I'll behave. Would seven-thirty be okay?"

"Uh…sure. Yeah."

"Will that give you enough time to get home and change?"

"I'll be ready. Don't you worry."

"Great. Listen, I have to go now. Alexis' friend, the one she's visiting tonight, she just moved to Williamsburg with her mom after her parents got divorced. Anyway, I said I'd have a drink with Jill, that's Caitlin's mom, while the girls finish watching their movie so…"

A stab of pure envy shoots through Kate almost leaving her winded. She leans on the counter to steady her breath and scrape herself back together enough to deliver a convincing goodbye sound bite that won't leave him suspecting anything. "Sure. Not a problem. Go…enjoy your drink. I'll see you tomorrow," she ends breezily.

Castle is still in the process of asking if he can phone back later once Alexis is home in bed. But Kate hears none of this because she has already ended the call, feeling sick to her stomach with an emotion she's never encountered before: jealousy.

* * *

She goes to bed around 9.45pm, taking a new book, a hot drink, and an Ambien with her in anticipation of a restless night ahead. Her mind has been whirring with all sort of stupid, pointless, idiotic thoughts since she abruptly signed off on her phone call with Rick.

They're not exclusive; of course they're not. They haven't even been on a proper date yet, and this woman he's meeting tonight is obviously someone he's known for some time, if she and her daughter have moved out of the city and Alexis is still friends with her kid. Besides, their drink is chaperoned by two six-year-old girls, who're probably braiding each other's hair and eating Mallowmars with their hot, sticky little hands right now. How intimate can their evening be with Alexis and her friend in tow?

But it still bothers her. Her mind is in turmoil when it really shouldn't be. She's a grown woman, an NYPD cop no less, and New York has a big dating scene. The fact that the man she's chosen to get involved with is none other than celebrity author, Richard Castle, who regularly haunts Page Six and a host of other assorted gossip columns, seems to have slipped her mind amidst the flurry of flirtatious text messages, the cozy late night chats and the tame coffee shop non-date thing the other day. Even their shared masturbation incident is no sign of a commitment. She's behaving like a total child and she needs to buck up her ideas before tomorrow.

So she drains the last of her tea, reads two pages of her book - reaping zero benefit from the task, since she doesn't take in a single word - and then she turns out the light to begin a restless session of tossing and turning, way more angry at herself than she is at Rick or this Jill woman.

* * *

She's barely ten minutes into a fitful doze when her cell phone begins to vibrate on the nightstand. She wakes up groggy and groaning.

"Beckett?" she whines into the end of the lump of black plastic she hopes contains the microphone part of her cell.

"Oh, God. I knew it. This is too late to call, isn't it?" whispers Castle, sounding a little out of breath.

Kate struggles to a sitting position in bed, hugging the covers over her knees. "No, it's…what time is it?" she mumbles, rubbing at her eyes.

"It's a quarter after ten, but you were sleeping, Kate. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to say goodnight and—"

He abruptly stops speaking, and Kate can sense there's some issue he wants to bring up but doesn't know how.

"What?" she asks, giving him no help at all.

"Are you mad at me?" he blurts, the words sliding out into a void of heavy silence.

"Mad. Am I mad at you?" repeats Kate, trying to buy herself some thinking time.

"You heard me the first time, Kate," Castle says, a little tersely.

She sighs. Her response is contrite. "No, I'm not mad at you. I…what right do I have to be mad? What reason?" she stumbles on, making an absolute meal of things.

"I've known Jill Franks since Alexis was in kindergarten," he begins to explain. "She and Mike decided to get divorced last year after—"

Kate is mortified. She attempts to get him to stop saying anymore for the sake of his friend's privacy and his own dignity. "Please, stop. You don't owe me any explanation."

"As I was saying," Castle carries on, ignoring her plea. "Jill and Mike got divorced last year after Jill cheated on _him_ with her Pilates instructor."

"_Oh._"

"Yes, oh. They just moved in together. All three of them. They're sharing his apartment in Williamsburg. Caitlin wanted Alexis to see her new bedroom and Alexis misses her terribly, so I agreed she could go over there even though it's a school night. Jill wanted to thank me for recommending a divorce lawyer, though why she bothered to ask _me_…" he trails off into embarrassed silence.

"Why wouldn't she ask?" queries Kate, verbalizing the only words she can think to come up with right now, her head is in such a mess.

"Because I pretty much gave Meredith carte blanche to take whatever she wanted. There wasn't much _lawyering_ involved in my divorce. Still, Jill seems happy enough with what she got from Mike and the Pilates guy was great with the girls while we talked, so… All's well that end's well, I guess."

"I'm sorry," says Kate, chewing on her lip in discomfort.

"Forget it. No harm done. I just wanted to call and set your mind at ease."

"Did you think I was worried?"

"Were you?"

"I have no right to be worried. We just met. We're not even dating. You've clearly known this woman for a lot longer than you've known me and—"

"Kate, were you worried?" Castle presses.

"Maybe. A little," she admits, feeling feeble as she gnaws on her poor lip with her central incisors.

"Good."

"_Good?_ What's good about it?"

"Because it means…I don't know how to say this."

"Try."

"It mean there's something there…between us. It means it's not all on me, okay?"

"What's not all on you?"

"_This._ Whatever it is we're doing. I don't want to be _that guy _again. Not after what happened with my ex. I don't want to be the one who gets the pitying looks when he walks into a room, I don't want to be the cause of people's sudden silences and strange behavior."

"Are you sure that had anything to do with your ex and not more to do with you?"

There's beat or two of silence before Rick laughs. "That was mean."

"Made you laugh though."

"Yeah, it did. Thank you."

* * *

Another patch of dead air stretches between their apartments and whatever cell towers their call is bouncing off before Castle speaks again.

"Did we just have our first fight?"

Kate covers her eyes with her hand. "Oh, God. I think we did."

"And we…we had_ phone sex_ before we even went on a date or kissed or anything."

"Jeez. You're right."

"Are we doing this all wrong?" whispers Castle.

"Kinda ass-backwards?" suggests Kate.

"Yeah. You think that means we're doomed?"

"Did you do things in the right order with Meredith?"

"Pretty much. _Oh_, except for the part where she got pregnant and _then_ I proposed."

"Right," winces Kate, since his answer kind of blows the theory she was about to suggest.

"Do you believe in fate, Kate?"

"I…I'm not sure. I never really thought about it before."

"I do."

"You sound…really certain."

"Will you allow me this one eccentricity on your behalf?"

"Just one?" she asks, starting to giggle.

"I mean it. Will you let me…please?"

"I actually have no idea what you think believing in fate will do in this circumstance. But, okay. Yeah, I guess it won't hurt."

"Good."

She thinks he's kind of nuts, but in an adorable, hopeful, vulnerable kind of way.

"Should we say goodnight before we walk into anymore minefields?" she suggests.

"I think we just disarmed them all."

Kate shakes her head, wondering at Castle's amazing capacity for optimism. He doesn't realize how little he knows her. There are minefields galore hidden just beneath the surface. One single, protracted, honest conversation with her, and he's going to step on any one of half a dozen buried devices that could cost him whatever they have forming here. She hopes for both their sakes that he's able to be as disarming tomorrow night as he's proved to be on the other scant occasions they've spent time together.

"Sleep well," murmurs Kate, exhaustion pulling on her far more strongly than the desire to keep this phone call going.

She needs time alone to decompress after her little jealous freak-out. Because she knows one thing for certain: being with this man will leave her awash with similar challenges as regular as the ebb and flow of the tide. Women will come out of the woodwork if they think he's about to be taken off the market by some twenty-three-year old female cop. It's the law of the jungle in Manhattan. She looks young and naive, unpolished even. He's a catch for age appropriate women and cougars alike, and when those jungle drums start pounding—

"Night, Kate. Sweet dreams," he whispers in her ear, and then he's gone.

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: *Words With Friends wasn't invented until 2009, and sadly not by Kate and Castle._

_Also, I know NYPD uniforms are dark navy, but visually they can pass for black, hence Kate's text to Castle that she's wearing "A little black number." ;)_


	15. Chapter 15 - The Endless Saturday

_**Chapter 15 – The Endless Saturday**_

She has all day. A long, lazy Saturday stretching out before her, hours and hours to fill up with something or nothing before seven-thirty ticks around bearing Richard Castle to her front door.

Hours.

Twelve hours and twenty-four minutes to be precise. Never has a Saturday seemed so huge before, so long.

Never.

She spends a lot of time alone when she's not at work, through choice she has to admit. In the beginning, after her mother died, time alone was the simplest, indeed the only choice, since it meant no act was required from her: no forced smile to make those around her feel better, no chipper cheeriness or even a stirring from the mute prison she'd retreated to inside her own head, dredging up a few mundane words that would serve to assure people that their vigilance over her was now unwarranted, that the worst had passed, that she had reentered the human race and was now a functioning member once more.

Her time alone nowadays, since she graduated the Academy, has slipped into habit, a preference for quiet when her workday entails being all eyes and ears at once, barked commands, pat-downs that are surly at best and so often fraught: curse words, dirty, sexually denigrating talk and the edge of danger never far away. The whooping of sirens, the chatter of her partner a constant beside her for eight and a half hours on tour, interruptions from Central Dispatch on the radio the breadcrumbs that shape their route for the day. Like a tortoise she yearns to retreat inside her shell and shut the noise off, breath, think, decompress as soon as she is alone.

So she loves the luxury of silence, the cool dimness of her apartment, hours with nothing to do, no orders or shape or timescale to her day. Except today. Today the silence and the shapelessness of the hours until dinner slightly scare her. They offer too much time to think, too many minutes to cross off with terrifyingly intimate scenarios playing on a loop inside her head. She's going to dinner with a man she arrested not that long ago, a man who has stalked and pursued her, aided and abetted by her own sergeant no less. She's going to dinner with a national celebrity author, one of New York City's most desirable bachelors. She must be crazy.

So she eschews a shower in favor of a run, donning a second skin of black and purple Lycra along with her Nike's. She grabs her keys and phone, straps her iPod to her arm and takes off down the stairs feeling pumped with adrenalin and nerves before she even leaves her apartment. She has so much excess energy to burn off, so many empty hours to fill.

She runs south down 2nd Avenue until she reaches St. Marks Place, where she pauses to catch her breath outside a Japanese noodle bar. She leaves the fragrant joint with a small to-go bowl of spicy miso ramen that'll keep her going until dinner and a healthy juice mix of carrot, ginger and celery which she walks a couple of blocks to Tompkins Square Park to eat. She settles on a bench outside the basketball courts where a hard-fought pick-up game between what sounds like a small group of friends and some random strangers is underway. A mere two hours have gone by since she last checked her dad's watch, so she cranks up her iPod, digs into her lunch and attempts to regulate her breathing in time with the yells on the asphalt court beyond the chain link fence in front of her.

* * *

_Meanwhile, over in SoHo…_

"Alexis, please. Just find a pair of shoes and put them on, honey," Castle cajoles his daughter, glancing at his watch to keep track of the time. He's grimacing on the inside, he hopes, screening his rising frustration from his unusually recalcitrant child.

"Why can't I come?" she demands, stomping her right foot in a gesture so uncharacteristic he's sure she must have learned it from someone else.

"Because this dinner is for grown-ups, pumpkin. You can have dinner with Kate another time, okay?"

"Caitlin has dinner with Gary and her mom _all the time_," she argues back, her little cheeks reddening with fury to match the fire of her hair.

Castle suppresses any visible reaction, managing to deal with this ah-ha moment internally. But this little nugget explains the out-of-character foot stomping and the stroppy attitude: she's been drawing parallels between Jill and Gary and Kate and himself.

He crouches down in front of Alexis, removing a sparkly pink ballet slipper from her hand and dropping it to the floor so that he can take both of her tiny hands in his. He tugs on them to get her attention.

"Baby, Caitlin's mom has known Gary for a long time. And they live together now. Kate and I just met a few weeks ago. We haven't even been out for dinner yet. But I promise that the three of us can go out somewhere together."

"Soon?" she whines, uncertainly.

Castle nods, slightly nervous to be offering this "dine with a bona fide NYPD cop" experience to his daughter without Kate's agreement or permission. But he needs her to get her things packed so that she can go and stay at the Henry's overnight. His mother really dropped him in it when she informed him late in the day that her plans had changed, that she would need this weekend free to…well, he hardly wants to think about the details. She'll be out of town is all he really needed to know, and therefore unavailable to take care of her granddaughter. He feels slightly guilty palming Alexis off on yet another set of friends, but he doesn't want to curb this evening with Kate by having to work around bedtime stories and teeth-cleaning duties. Alexis loves sleeping over with twins Jack and Phoebe Henry, so there shouldn't be any problem. He just has to get her packed up so the rest of his day can unfold as planned, _after_ he drops her off at ballet class.

"Look, why don't you take the _Lilo &amp; Stitch_ backpack? Then you can fit in an extra pair of shoes?" he suggests, trying to sound reasonable and productive. If Alexis senses that she's being rushed, patronized, managed or coddled, she'll only make things harder on both of them.

"What about my cape and wand? Everything won't fit."

"Go dressed as Harry then. Wear your cape over your dress."

Alexis stares at him like he's suddenly grown an extra head. She lands her hands on her hips and gives him an all-out glare. "I can't go half Hermione and half Harry."

"Hmm, that would make you _Har_-mione," he suggests, hoping to raise a smile.

He gets an eye-roll instead, followed by another impatient glare as she kicks out one hip to indicate that she's not impressed and she's still waiting for a solution. How did she get so old so fast, he wonders, watching this terrifying range of female gestures take place in front of him?

Castle takes a breath, bites his tongue, and then he smiles, all reason. "Then you have to decide who you want to be today. Smart girl wizard or the guy with the scar?"

She thinks for a second and then she answers with such confidence it rocks Castle back on his feet. "I think Kate would choose the scar. Don't you? I'm going with Harry. Where are my dark pants?" she lisps, turning in a circle to survey the explosion of small clothes littering her bed.

They lock the front door half an hour later rolling a small, pink, wheeled case behind them in place of the _Lilo &amp; Stitch_ backpack. You'd think she was leaving home for a week instead of just one night, but Castle lets it slide for once in favor of a happy child and an easier life.

* * *

Back at her apartment, Kate has her own small clothing explosion taking place in her bedroom. She cleaned the bathroom, changed her bed linen, and then began dragging all manner of outfit combos out of her closet and drawers, studying pairings in the mirror, before rejecting, editing and reworking. She's now sitting half-naked on her bedroom floor trying to reattached a button to the pants she's decided are essential to tonight's outfit. Forget the fact that she has several other pairs of equally well-cut, relatively new, equivalently expensive pants and jeans in perfect condition that she could wear tonight. It's the law of the female psyche that the unavailable pants – the ones missing a button, minus a working zipper, the pants with the hem descending around one ankle or the nasty stain on one thigh – _those_ are the pants a woman will decide she desperately needs for a night out, when time is of the essence, dry cleaners and tailors are closed and decisions have to be made.

So she sews. And then she curses when she pricks her finger with the needle while finishing off with a double loop through the back of the garment to secure the end of the thread. She sucks on her finger like a child and then she stares at her bedside clock in alarm.

It's 6.45pm already! Where did the day go? Rick will be here in forty-five freaking minutes!

She runs to the bathroom to throw herself into the shower, almost slipping and falling as she hurries to step out on to the cold tile without the aid of a bathmat five minutes later.

Her make-up routine is minimal, even for dates, so she's presentable by 7.10pm. A quick blast of the hairdryer, a scoop of gel and a tousle through with her fingers and her short, textured style is ready to go. She dresses more carefully, attempting to calm the freneticism of the last twenty-five minutes with some quiet time. Her jeans fit like a soft leather glove, now with working button. She adds a sheer purple shirt with a black cami underneath and a pair of black high-heel ankle boots. Tiny gold earrings and a thin gold chain with a gold disk pendant that bears her initial in curling cursive finish her outfit. Purple and gold are such regal colors they work well together, sparking off her eyes and her hair.

By the time she's finished dressing, packing necessities into her small purse, and adding a final coat of cherry flavored lipgloss, it's already 7.25pm. She's nervous - tingling with the kind of excitement that swings between being unpleasantly anxious and perfectly anticipatory. Despite her focus on deep breathing she gets a sense of something else, some kind of awareness that leads her to her own front door to peer through the spyhole. There on the other side of the door, pacing back and forth on catlike feet she would never have suspected him of possessing, is Rick Castle. And he's talking to himself.

Suddenly her nerves diminish, like a rolling boil in a stovetop pot reduced to a simmer. His nervousness is plain to see as she watches him wear a path up and down the hallway of her building. She smiles to herself and then she bites her lip. She's still debating her course of action when he abruptly turns to face her door, following a lightening quick check of the time on his watch. But she's so engrossed in studying him that she doesn't pull away quickly enough, and she knows in a heartbeat that as she does so the light level through the peephole will change, and if he's anywhere as observant as she knows him to be, she will be busted.

"Kate? You…you there?" he calls from the other side of her sturdy front door.

She sighs and slaps a hand to her forehead. Yep, busted!

"Uh…yeah, just coming," she calls in response, turning in a circle, gritting her teeth and giving her hair a final fluff before she turns the deadbolt with a flick of her wrist and prepares to face the music.

"Hi," grins Castle, evidently feeling equally as caught out, which kind of works in Kate's favor.

She decides to seize the upper hand. "Were you lurking outside my door, Mr. Castle?" she demands, tartly.

The writer tips his head to one side, a slightly bashful grin on his face. "I got here a little early. Didn't want to rush you," he explains. "So I was…pacing…quietly."

Just when Kate thinks she got away with her own spot of lurking, he adds, "If the shadow moving across your peephole is any indication, I wasn't the only one skulking around."

Kate can't help the grin that creeps onto her face. "Okay, you caught me. Must have heard something out in the hall. It's a cop thing," she adds by way of qualification. "But I swear I just looked out as you looked up."

Castle regards her for a second. "Are we even?"

Kate grins at the floor and then looks back up again, meeting his eyes. "Guess we are."

"Shall we step over this embarrassing start to the evening and admit that we are just two highly curious individuals? _Which _is definitely not a bad thing, especially in this city. Can't be too careful about who's loitering outside you door," he adds, giving her a wink.

"Highly curious," ponders Kate, before deciding to agree, "Yeah, I think I can live with that."

"Great," says Castle, suddenly feeling the urge to look at his shoes.

There's an awkward moment while they stand facing one another across the threshold of Kate's apartment, before she remembers her manners and he remembers the bottle of wine he has secreted behind his back.

"Would you like to come in?" clashes with "I know you said no flowers, so I thought I'd replenish your fridge."

"Yes, please," and "Thank you," bounce off one another in another display of near perfect timing, and Kate laughs, shaking her head while Castle adds, "I think we might have found ourselves a party trick."

"Mm, an unusual one at that," Kate agrees, before stepping back and holding out on arm in a gesture meant to indicate that he is now invited into her home.

Castle gives her one last confirming look and she nods for him to go ahead and enter. It's as if they've hit the reset button again and everything has been returned to the nerves of old, before they got comfortable chatting and laughing with one another on the phone.

"This is—" comes out at the same time as, "Did Alexis get—" and soon they're laughing again, breaking the ice with a round of, "After you," and, "No, ladies first. Please. I insist."

"Please, you're my guest, Rick. What were you going to say?"

He looks around her open plan living room-come-kitchen and offers up a smile. "Just that this is a really nice apartment."

Kate looks around too, in the same way that Castle did when she first visited the loft: attempting to see her own private space as he is seeing it now. All she sees is a small, though neat and tidy, apartment that is significantly less well endowed with features and quirky architectural detail than she would like. She shrugs, "It's warm in the winter, the plumbing and A/C both work, the rent is manageable and it's pretty convenient for work."

"I sense a but."

Kate looks around her at the off-white walls, the beige carpeted floor and the coffee and cream toned kitchen counter and cabinetry that could both do with being dragged out of the 70's.

"Yeah, I guess I just…it's not really my style. That's all. But this is Manhattan. I'm lucky to live in a rent stabilized building with a Super who actually fixes things the first time you ask."

"How long have you lived here?"

"I started renting this place when I entered the Academy, so…better part of three years."

"And…it's home?"

"Yes, it's definitely home now," she agrees, following Castle's eyes to the brown leather sleeper sofa and Tucson lift-top coffee table she went with her hungover dad to buy from _Raymour &amp; Flannigan_ on East 14th Street, feeling exactly what she was: a terrified college student on the cusp of being thrust into the role of grown-up well-before her time.

"I like your style," he says, wandering over to a cheap wooden bookcase standing against the back wall to lift one of a small parade of elephants taking pride of place on the middle shelf.

She watches him turn the artifact over in his large hands, carefully examining the painted porcelain figurine. It's too soon to admit that she inherited these cherished items from her dead mother. The elephants, as well as an engagement ring, and the stack of his books she carefully removed from the shelves before his arrival, storing them in her bedside cabinet out of sight. Too many questions and assumptions that way lie. So she's holding off until she gets a clearer sense of where, if anywhere, this friendship might be headed.

"So…do I get to know where we're going tonight?"

Castle carefully replaces the elephant on its shelf and turns to face her. "Soon. I promise."

She flicks her hand over her mid-section, giving him a querying look. "This appropriate attire?"

"Perfect. You…you really look lovely, Kate," he says with such sincerity than she finds it hard to reconcile this gentle, kind man with the arrogant fool she first met on the back of a borrowed police horse.

"Thank you. So do you," she adds, allowing herself a second or two to check him out.

He doesn't seem to mind. In fact, just a hint of the preening, Page Six-er reappears as he steps back to allow her room to look, does a twirl and then performs an elaborate bow worthy of swashbuckling Hollywood heartthrob Errol Flynn.

Kate laughs. "Okay, you look pretty good. Don't overdo it, Romeo."

"Too much?" he laughs, taking her ribbing with good humor.

"Just a little."

"Noted. Promise not to embarrass you when we're out in public."

A shot of excitement runs through her, reigniting some of her nerves at the thought of going out somewhere unknown with the well-known author.

"Hey," he says, reaching out to touch her arm, "don't look so terrified. Promise my table manners will pass muster. I'm even potty trained."

"Oh, jeez. Poor Alexis. I hope you don't say things like that in front of her friends?"

"I'm kid-trained too. Though from her performance this morning you'd never know it."

"Oh? Problem?"

"Just…" Castle shakes his head, unsure whether telling Kate about Alexis' little tantrum will freak her out. "It's nothing. Tell you later," he offers when she keeps looking at him quizzically, obviously sensing a story.

To put her off the scent, Castle glances at his watch. "We should really get going."

Kate regards him warily, unwilling to give up right away on whatever it is he's reluctant to share with her. Finally she breaks eye contact, finds her purse and the light summer jacket she selected earlier laid out on her lone armchair that sits catty corner to the sofa. "Are we going far?" she asks, as Castle gives her small apartment one more curious sweep before heading the few steps back towards the front door.

"Not too far," he assures her, though his tone seems deliberately vague.

He waits for her a little way down the hall while she locks her front door. He imagines Alexis one day living alone like Kate in some old apartment building in this big, sometimes unforgiving city and it makes him shiver, makes him long for today's innocent argument over sparkly ballet shoes and Harry Potter capes.

"You okay?" asks Kate once she draws level with him.

"Uh…yup," he nods, a tight smile quickly slipped in place for her lest he spills his guts and comes off sounding more like a neurotic dad leaving his newborn alone for the first time than the handsome guy going on a date with an attractive young woman he's been wooing for some time that he wants to appear to Kate.

* * *

The air down on the street in front of Kate's building is so pleasantly warm that they both seem to relax the second it wraps around them like a comforting blanket, permeating their clothing and caressing their skin.

Kate smiles at Castle expectantly, one hand on her purse and the other one tucked inside her jacket pocket as she waits for a steer from him. "So…which way?" she asks, glancing up and down the street.

"Do you like Japanese food?" he asks, startling a little when Kate lets out a surprise peel of laughter and vigorously nods her head. "Did I say something funny?"

She shakes her head, the short, spiky strands of her hair dancing prettily around her face. "No. Honestly. I love Japanese food."

Castle watches her like he's still not sure. "You're not just humoring me?"

Kate takes her hand out of her pocket and crosses her heart. "Swear."

"So…what's with the gales of laughter? Did I miss a joke?"

She chews her lip, toes the sidewalk and swings her shoulders from side to side like a little girl about to confess some minor crime. "I might have had a bowl of ramen noodles for lunch today," she admits, wincing as she peers up at him through her long, dark lashes.

Castle face falls instantly. "Oh, Kate. No, then we'll find a plan B for dinner."

But she reaches for his arm before she can think twice, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. "Honestly, I'd love nothing more than to go get more Japanese food with you tonight."

Castle eyes her suspiciously, the thrill of her honest declaration fizzing in his insides. "You sure?"

"I'm one hundred percent sure. I'm also pretty certain you don't have a plan B up your sleeve so…" She winks at him, squeezing his hand before letting him go. "Which way?"

Castle offers her a grateful smile. She is right: there was no plan B. When he had pressed her sergeant for tips as to what might make a good date night, the little Japanese restaurant a block from her apartment had been the definitive answer. No fancy, overpriced French food, no carriage rides around the Park and definitely no flowers had been Sergeant Halliday's stern, earnest advice. Castle had trusted her reluctantly, but it looked as if that trust might just pay off.

"One block over."

They head north, getting just a handful of steps up the street before Kate gasps, fingers grasping for Castle's sleeve. "Not _Shuko_?"

Castle allows a sly smile to creep over his face. "You know it?"

"It's my favorite."

"_Really?"_ he asks in that gleeful, mock-surprised way people have when they already know the answer.

Kate slams to a dead halt. "Wait. This is no coincidence. Who told you?"

"I might have asked around."

"Who. Told. You?" she presses.

"Cathy."

Kate groans, one hand pressed to her forehead, covering her eyes. "Sergeant Halliday knows were we're going on our first date?"

Castle coughs uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck, before admitting, "Technically Sergeant Halliday _chose_ our first date."

Kate looks like she might be sick as she turns in a little circle until her back is to him, needing a moment to process this new and alarming information.

Castle reaches out to touch her back, pulling his hand away at the last second in case she doesn't want to be touched, in case he messes things up anymore than he already has. "Are you okay? I just didn't want to screw up, take you to the wrong place, Kate. Tonight is important to me. I just wanted it to go well. Did Halliday give me a bad steer? You do like Japanese food, don't you?"

He sounds so fraught with doubt, so desperate for their date to go well that Kate can do nothing but forgive him for asking her boss for help on where they should go.

"She's never even been to my apartment. I have no idea how she even knows I like Japanese, let alone that Shuko is my favorite place in this neighborhood."

Kate isn't running, which is great, and to hear that the restaurant they're headed to is her favorite... Well, score two for Halliday.

"So…I didn't totally screw up?" Castle risks asking, hands clenched into fists inside his pants' pockets.

She finally turns to face him. "I'm asking your mother for baby photos after this. You do understand that, don't you? Baby photos and every little embarrassing story from your early childhood right through adolescence. And you've got to sit there and take the humiliation like a man. Understand?"

She's smiling by the time she finishes her list of demands and Castle nods contritely, secretly gleeful inside that she's giving him this chance, no matter how embarrassing her consultation with his mother might prove in time. He should have known better than to breach her privacy by asking Halliday for help. He's better than that. He's planned hundreds of dates over the years. It's just that when it comes to Kate Beckett, making the wrong move is no longer an option. He wants her more than he's ever wanted anyone before. He wants her friendship, her story, he wants to make her smile, to hear her laugh, to listen to her make that cute, sexy little noise she made on the phone when she climaxed the other day. He wants her and he'll stop at nothing to make sure he earns her.

Whatever it takes.

_TBC..._


	16. Chapter 16 - The Dinner

_**Chapter 16 – The Dinner**_

"You don't like chopsticks?"

Castle watches Kate pick her bright red lacquered chopsticks up off the little white porcelain rest and then set them back down again. The rest is shaped like a fortune cookie and Kate seems to be amusing herself with the ergonomics of the perfectly apt design, of how it hugs the chopsticks just right no matter how carelessly you place them down.

"No, I like them fine. I just…sometimes I like to use my fingers." Kate shrugs and smiles at him, her cheeks drawn wide, her tongue trapped between her teeth so that just the tip pokes out, torturing him. "Is that weird?" She looks at him slyly, her head tilted to one side when she asks, somehow appearing even younger than her twenty-three years tonight, a fact he finds a little disconcerting.

Castle continues to eye her over his own bowl of grilled Japanese squid brushed with garlic soy sauce. "Depends what you're eating, I guess. Did you eat your ramen with your fingers?" he asks, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Kate mock-glares at him, a little petulant, childlike. "_No._"

"See," he crows in reply, waving his own chopsticks in her general direction.

"I just slurped them right out of the bowl. One at a time. End to end," she teases, offering him an explanatory sideshow by doing exactly that with a fat, wiggly soba noodle right in front of him.

The buckwheat noodle waggles back and forth as she purses her lips seductively, sucking it perfectly past her chin, not a drop of soy sauce going anywhere. Her cheeks hollow out as she does so sending Castle's mind sliding straight into the gutter.

"Wha—"

"I'm kidding," Kate confesses, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "I used a spoon."

Castle gapes at her blankly, his face suddenly a shade or two darker in the flickering glow from the red glass, wax filled candleholder sitting in the center of their table.

"For the ramen. This afternoon. I used a spoon," Kate fills in, while Castle's brain takes its own sweet time to reenter the room.

He moves once more, like a robot suddenly rebooted, plucking a cashew nut from a messy tangle of noodles and hovering it midway to his mouth. "Why are we talking cutlery anyway?"

Kate wrinkles her brow and her nose, cute as a Shar-Pei puppy for a second. "Yeah. Are we nervous?" she wonders aloud.

"Is this helping?"

"What? The cutlery talk?" She laughs when Castle nods, his own brow now furrowed by humor. "It's ridiculous enough to be distracting, that's for sure."

"Not exactly sparkling first date talk though, is it?"

"Hmm," Kate hums, contemplatively plucking a shiitake mushroom from one of the sharing plates their have littering the middle of the table. "So…tell me about Alexis. You hinted at some drama earlier at my apartment. Everything okay?"

Castle hadn't decided whether or not to tell Kate about Alexis' little tantrum, but now there seems like there's no way around explaining what happened at home without lying to her or appearing to shut her out. Things have been good so far tonight, after the rocky start when she found out who had helped plan their date. He doesn't want the evening going backwards, so he gambles on her being fine with his daughter's demand for a threesome and decides to explain.

"It's not a big deal really. Oh, you have to try some of this squid, Kate," he says, interrupting himself. "There's enough garlic in here to make your eyes water."

"And…this is a good thing?"

She looks unconvinced, but since she's grinning at him he decides to go for broke, expertly holding a shivering piece of scored, grilled squid out to her between the points of his chopsticks. "It's a good thing if you plan on letting me kiss you later," he murmurs sotto voce.

Kate grins even more broadly, her cheeks warming to a lovely, delicate shade of pink. "I see. And…you think that's on the cards?"

Castle shrugs as if he doesn't really care one way or the other, which is an outright lie for starters. "If you're good."

On hearing this audacious remark Kate laughs loudly and Castle has to steady his hand so as not to drop the precarious piece of squid dangling above the table between them when he can't help joining in. Her laugh is perfect – young and carefree - it chases the darkness he's seen haunt her eyes since the first night he met her clean away. But her laughter is a healing salve to him too. It feels unctuous, enveloping, warm, and yet like a cool compress all at once. It makes him feel giddy, youthful, like all the bad things that have befallen him up to now were just what the are: valuable life lessons meant to prepare him better for the future.

He stares at her face as if he can read the future in her perfect, shiny tiger eye pupils, in her smooth, pale, unblemished skin, in the upward curve of her amused, distracting mouth with those pale, soft lips he yearns to pull promises from. In future. He nails this thought to his inner mast as he flickers his eyes over her mouth once more before she catches him at it or at least calls him out on it this time.

"If _I'm_ good?" she declares, jabbing her thumb at her own chest and bursting his rainbow-streaked, fantasy bubble.

"Just eat the squid before I drop it," Castle insists, aiming his chopsticks towards her mouth.

He approaches the task with care, and it's like the airplane game he used to play with Alexis when she was a skinny, uncooperative baby, sitting up in her highchair refusing his bland, though at least homemade, meals. And now Kate opens for him, her eyes locked on his when he delicately maneuvers the morsel of food past her lips so that she can claim it with her teeth into the soft welcoming bed of her tongue.

"_Mm!_"

Her exclamation is bawdy, a sinful sound of pleasure that verges on the obscene. It's nothing like the gummy, slapping sounds of approval Alexis used to make when he fed her mashed banana mixed with baby rice, the only food she seemed to want to tolerate at that age. He's mixing memories with the here-and-now, and it's getting to be a little weird. He watches Kate in silence, his eyes skimming from her lips back up to her open gaze and down again.

Eventually he clears his throat, managing a croaked, "Told you it was good," before reaching for a sip of water to moisten his suddenly dry throat.

"So…Alexis? You trying to hold out on me?" asks Kate, taking a mouthful of her own water to dilute the undeniably strong taste of garlic.

"It's nothing really. She threw a little tantrum earlier when I was getting her ready to go stay at a friend's house. She's…she's not normally like that. Uncooperative."

Kate nods her head and then drops it quietly to fiddle with a rice ball, nudging at the little gelatinous mound squatting in the center of her plate. "I see."

She assumes the girl has a problem losing her daddy for the night, that Kate is the cause of the six year old's distress, when the opposite is in fact true.

"No, I don't think you do," Castle explains calmly. "She wanted to come with us."

Kate does a double take. "Where? _Here?_"

This is Castle's turn to nod. "She wanted the three of us to go out to dinner together."

"What did you tell her?" Kate asks, and then holds her breath for the answer.

Castle winces, uncertain of the reaction he's going to get. "I might have promised we'd have dinner together some other night."

"Right," Kate replies reflexively, taking a moment to process this promise her date has made to his adorable child on behalf of both of them.

"Am I a terrible person?"

"What? For trying to calm your daughter?" She shakes her head. "No."

"It's just…" Castle pauses, looking for the words to explain what he figured out only this morning. He rubs his neck, a nervous tick, Kate now realizes. "She's been drawing parallels between her friend Caitlin—"

"The one who just moved to Williamsburg?"

"Yeah. That's the one. Gold star for keeping up. So…yeah, it seems she's been comparing Caitlin's relationship with her mom and the new boyfriend, Gary."

Kate blinks, thinking she's maybe misunderstood. "Sorry, comparing them to…to _us_?"

Castle's nod is slow and tinged with misery. "Yes. And I'm sorry I didn't consult you before telling her we could go out together. It was a spur of the moment thing, a kind of verbal pacifier. But she'll most likely forget in a day or two. Don't worry."

Kate takes a deep breath, finding herself on a mission to dispel the sadness suddenly written into the lines of Castle's undeniably handsome face. "Don't be sorry. And I know I only met her once but I'm pretty sure Alexis won't forget your promise in a hurry."

The man beams at her, his features utterly transformed in a heartbeat by her words. The sensation is powerful - a revelation really - that she can make someone else so happy with such little effort.

"They should just forget the exam and make you a detective right away," Castle declares, taking another long drag on his water glass, mightily relieved to have navigated that awkward little choppy patch of weather without capsizing their date. "_You_," he tells her, enthusiastically pointing his chopsticks, and utterly forgetting his table manners in the process, "are one of the most, if not _the_ most, perceptive people I've ever met. You're totally right. The second I turn up at the Henrys' house to collect Alexis tomorrow she's going to start asking where and when we're all going out to dinner. Kid has a memory like an elephant."

"My favorite animal," murmurs Kate.

Castle smiles that relieved and slightly exhausted smile once more, his gratitude palpable, and all because she offered him some understanding and didn't freak out about something that might never happen.

"Your ornaments. That little tribe you have in your apartment…I remember."

"They were my mom's."

The words trip out of her mouth before she can think twice about censoring them, about what comes after – the questions, the curiosity, the back-peddling on her part, the hurt she knows she'll see in his eyes when she shuts the conversation down, her own awkward pain matched only by his well-meaning pity. She's been down this road before.

But this is when he surprises her again. He studies her face quietly for a second. Her head is bowed over the remains of her meal, and when he doesn't ask the inevitable list of probing questions she's bracing for she hazards a glance up only to find him making some kind of silent resolution with himself.

"_Love will draw an elephant through a keyhole_," he quotes, drawing an imaginary, invisible elephant on his plate with the tips of his chopsticks.

"I—" Kate looks stunned. "What?"

"Samuel Richardson, the English novelist? He said that. He died on July 4th 1761. I bet he'd never even seen an elephant."

A strangled giggle of relief escapes Kate's throat at the absurdity of her dinner companion's last observation. "Guess not," she agrees, stifling her smile behind her hand.

"You about ready to get out of here? I thought maybe we could get coffee or a drink somewhere else…whatever you're comfortable with."

He's reading her as well as she's reading him, and this restraint on his part – because she does know how pushy and nosy he generally is – intrigues her even more. He's on his best behavior. Maybe it's time to get him to loosen up a little. She doesn't want him too buttoned up. That way no one has any fun.

"Sounds great. Let's get the check," she suggests, deliberately allowing her pinky finger to brush the side of his hand as she settles her arm a little further out across the narrow table. She takes great satisfaction from watching him shiver, full body. Even his hair seems to stand to attention at this gentlest of touches.

The owners of Shuko, Sam and Ana Lee Chang, insist on treating them to a sakazuki of premium Kunshu sake. Kate lifts her small cup first, holding the sakazuki with one hand cradled underneath as she inhales the rich, fruity aroma of the slightly chilled drink before taking a sip and carefully replacing it on the table.

"Perks of knowing the owners? Or a bribe for local law enforcement?" teases Castle, enjoying a sip of his own.

"More like payback for all the paychecks I've spent in here over the last three years," Kate replies, resting her chin on one hand as she looks around the familiar restaurant one more time.

"I can think of worse ways to spend your money. Food was great," Castle says, genuine and generous with his praise. "Though this is the first Japanese restaurant I've been to where they give you these. Fortune cookie?" he asks her, offering up the little dish with two cookies resting in the center so that she can choose her fortune first.

Kate selects the one nearest and immediately snaps the crescent-shaped sugar cookie in half. "You know some people believe fortune cookies were actually invented in Japan. That they come from an ancient Japanese tradition of selling fortune slips at temples and shrines," she informs him as she pulls the little paper tab out from one side and unfurls it while Castle is repeating the same motions on his side of the table.

When she looks up, she finds him smiling at her, an unreadable expression on his face at first.

"What?" she asks, feeling self-conscious enough that butterflies take flight in her stomach at the warmth and the strains of yearning she begins to make out in his eyes.

"Ladies first," whispers Castle a little hoarsely, leaning in closer, both elbows propped on the red tablecloth.

Kate looks down at her strip of paper and starts to laugh. Eventually she's laughing so hard she can't even speak and has to pass the piece of paper across the table so that Castle can read it for himself.

"_When hungry, order more Chinese food." _

He snorts when he finishes reading these words of profound wisdom. "Kind of betting against themselves with advice like that in here," he observes, watching Ana Lee Chang gracefully serve another customer nearby with a heavy, cast iron pot of green tea.

Kate is still laughing, her smile wrapped around her sake bowl as she sips the remainder of her drink.

"What about yours?" she asks, scanning the table for Castle's fortune when he doesn't immediately offer to read it out to her.

She spots him palm it off the tabletop and then curl his fingers into a cave of a fist with the strip of paper sheltering inside. She assumes the fortune shows him in a bad light. It wouldn't be the first time something unmanly has turned up inside one of the quirky little cookies.

"Come on, Castle. Showed you mine," she challenges, starting to flirt a little more with him now that the sake is kicking in.

He shakes his head.

"Come on. What, is it stupid?" She puts on a dumb voice with a hint of an Asian accent. "_You will have unexpected great good luck?_ Hmm? Is it that? _It never pays to kick a skunk?_ I've had that one before."

Castle shakes his head again and then attempts to distract her by paying the check.

"Hey, I'm splitting that with you," Kate protests, momentarily forgetting the cookie to reach for her purse.

"No way. I asked you out to dinner. This one's mine," Castle insists, risking the audacious follow-up, "You can get the next one."

* * *

The check finally paid, they both visit the restroom, agreeing to meet out on the sidewalk since the small restaurant is now busy and more than one couple is waiting by the door for a table.

Kate is already standing out on the street when Castle finally emerges. His hair has been freshly combed, Kate can instantly tell, and she smiles quietly to herself at this flattering act of vanity on the writer's part.

"More lipgloss," he notes appreciatively, reminding Kate that he misses nothing either.

"And you combed your hair," she retaliates, just a little smugly.

"What a vain pair. Guess we're even," Castle suggests, winking at her.

"Not exactly."

"Okay, so I might have brushed my teeth but—"

Kate stares, wide-eyed. "You brought your _toothbrush?_ To _dinner?_"

"Yes. But no…_not_ because I thought I'd be staying the night or anything. Purely for oral hygiene purposes."

"Oral hygiene purposes?" she repeats, voice heavy-laden with a fine blend of puzzlement and amusement, as if he had just said the long chemical name for DNA (deoxyribonucleic acid) and then asked her to repeat it back to him. "You couldn't just…like a breath mint or a stick of gum?"

"Now you're laughing at me," he pouts.

"You really want that goodnight kiss badly, don't you? Anyway, we're not even yet because you still haven't shared your fortune cookie with me."

"I ate it inside," he deadpans, thumbing over his shoulder at the restaurant's front window, which is strung with a cheerful row of red, lighted, paper lanterns.

"I meant the message…the…the fortune thing. You know that's what I meant. I watched you palm it like it was the pea in some sidewalk shell game. What's up with that?"

Castle shrugs. "I don't remember what it said. _So_…where shall we go now? Back to yours for coffee or—"

"Ha!"

Kate surprises him, slipping her hand into his jacket pocket, the one she's pretty sure contains the fortune cookie message.

"Hey!" Castle yelps in surprise, trapping her hand inside.

"Let go. I want to read it," Kate insists, her fingers now closed around the little scrap of paper.

Castle decides there's a little bargain to be struck if he's to allow her to read his fortune. "What's it worth?"

Kate's jaw drops open. "Seriously?"

Castle nods, her hand still trapped inside his, diminutive and a little too warm.

"Need I remind you I'm an NYPD cop. I have a _gun_," she says brazenly.

"You're threatening to _shoot me?_ Over a _fortune cookie?_" Castle says this loudly enough that two passersby slow to stare at them in alarm.

He breaks into a grin and then waves them off. "Just a little game we like to play," he tells the couple, who tut in disgust and then hurry on down the street.

"Fine. I will agree to go to dinner with Alexis if you show me your fortune."

"Oh, no. You already agree to that. No deal. I need something else."

Kate splutters. "Just show me the damn thing or this is the last date we ever go on."

She's all bluster but Castle removes his grip on her hand immediately, allowing her room to withdraw it from his pocket and uncurl the, by now, very crumpled, slightly damp and partially smudged strip of printed paper from the warm shell of her palm.

Kate skims the fortune as she simultaneously reads it aloud.

"_The love of your life is stepping into your planet this…summer." _

When she finishes reading and then doesn't say anything more, Castle takes the piece of paper from her, folds it up neatly and jams it back into his pocket muttering something about "stupid" that she doesn't quite catch.

"Great. I finally meet someone I like and I get upstaged by a damned alien."

Kate's joke wipes the melancholy expression off Castle's face in an instant, only not for the reason she expects. Conspiracy theories, his take on the moon landings _("Of course they happened, but the government covered up the discovery of extraterrestrial life, Kate")_, even his love of magic, which he's already shared with her, has her assuming he'll leap on the alien part of her comment and make a wisecrack.

So she's surprised and unprepared when he says, "You really like me?" as if this is an unfathomable truth.

"Well, this is awkward," she mutters a handful of heavy seconds later, kicking the sidewalk with her shoe. "Didn't mean to go all the way on our first date."

Castle stares at her, his face a picture of confusion until Kate playfully nudges his shoulder with her own. "_Of course_ I like you, you idiot. You think I have phone sex with every perp I throw in the back of my squad car?"

"Oh, nice. Bring that up again, why don't you," he grumbles.

"Which part? The sex or your brush with the law?" Kate laughs at Castle's wounded, little boy expression. "Come on. That was funny. And what a great story to tell the grandkids."

His head swivels so fast to look at her she worries it might fly off his neck or give him whiplash at the very least. "You mean that?"

"_No," _she scoffs unconvincingly._ "_I'm just trying to cheer you up. Now…coffee or drinks? You choose."

And then she's off, striding down the street like she owns the joint.

_TBC…_


End file.
